


Six Degrees in Either Direction

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Not Part of the Plan [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Arranged Marriage, Captivity, Castiel POV, Celebrity couple, Flirting, Fugitives, Gas-N-Sip, Getting Back Together, Intrigue, M/M, Politics, Propaganda, Refugees, Relationship Negotiation, Reunion Sex, Romance, Schmoop, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 93,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel betrayed his king, he decided that his best chance was to stay hidden and out of sight. But that was weeks ago, and the situation has changed. Now Castiel has new options and new priorities to consider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are so many things to absorb.

For starters, there’s the Turner Estate. Dean’s explanation confirms some of Castiel’s guesses – it’s one of a handful of communes that have been modified to provide aid and services for the general public. Hunters have sworn an oath to protect the people, and protection doesn’t mean merely wielding a blade. It also means food, shelter, the basic amenities for survival, all those things. Rufus Turner is the head of the Turner House and a good friend of Dean’s, though he’s left the Estate in the hand of Bobby Singer, since Rufus’s skills are better used on the front.

“Just a handful of communes?” Castiel asks. “Surely there need to be more.”

“For the most part the locals can manage themselves,” Dean says. “Schools, town halls, all of ‘em – and people chip in wherever they can. The big Hunter Houses are along the main highways, and so far that’s enough.”

They are walking through the grounds as they talk, which was Dean’s idea. After the initial shock wore off he’d leapt onto the opportunity to show Castiel around, first taking him back to the medical wards, which he explains only do basic first aid and give space for recovering less-critical patients transferred from the proper hospital in town. Then it’s out to the square courtyard of the estate, which is only marginally less busy than the area outside, people going to and from their business, others stacking boxes or tinkering with equipment, others still standing around and talking. Castiel stays close by Dean’s side as Dean points out the huge Turner seal carved into the archway, and then identifies the surrounding buildings one by one.

“Everything on the East-South side is pretty much free-flowing,” Dean says. “We know it’s a safety risk but we set up wards where we can. You don’t wanna make the locals feel nervous or trapped, you know?”

“Yes, I understand,” Castiel says. “And you – I assume you have your duties here as well?”

“Ah, yeah, everyone pulls their weight. Right now I’m bunking in with Benny, he has a room way up…” Dean turns, squinting against sunlight, and points at a high corner of one of the buildings. “Five flights of stairs, plenty o’ exercise for these thighs.”

“They are nice thighs,” Castiel says.

Dean grins. “And all my hard work just paid off.”

It is remarkable that Castiel is able to retain any of this information when he’s around Dean. Castiel’s memories are not faulty – he is as compelling as ever, warm and vibrant and so _present_ that the rest of the world feels less substantial in comparison. Castiel’s lips still tingle from Dean’s kisses, his neck still feels warm from where Dean had nuzzled against him. They are standing close enough that their shoulders and arms brush whenever they move so, really, Castiel deserves a medal of some sort for being able to keep a clear head at all.

“You are staying, though?” Dean asks. The question is so direct that Castiel is startled, just like the way he’s startled by the directness of Dean’s gaze. “Benny won’t mind. It’s for a good cause.”

“You’d kick your roommate out?” Castiel asks.

“It’s his room,” Dean says gleefully, “but yeah, why not.”

“Isn’t it your room as well?”

“Nah, I’m just passing through. Well, I _was_ passing through, but…” Dean shrugs. “I’m usually near the front. Or beyond the front, even. I was at Stanford during the last takeover when I got the wire that Sam had hooked up with Ash. Dropped everything to make my way there and, whaddya know, there was a letter from you waiting for me, too.”

“I’m not angry at you,” Castiel says quickly. “If you were wondering, which you said that you were. I haven’t been angry with you for a long time.”

Dean’s smile, which has been a near-constant since Castiel laid eyes on him today, gentles. He nods, just a quick bob of his head. His eyes do not waver from Castiel’s, as though he, too, is trying to ensure that this conversation is not a mirage.

“Yeah?” Dean says quietly.

“Definitely,” Castiel replies. Dean is close enough that Castiel can wrap his fingers around Dean’s wrist and leave them there. Dean even lets him. “So where is Sam?”

“I took him up to Ellen and our parents,” Dean says. “Big blow-out, but we got ‘em listening, and Sam’s helping ‘em peel Lucifer’s plans wide open.”

“Ellen?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, she’s funding all this.” Dean cocks his head back. Castiel realizes that he’s referring to the set-up of the Turner Estate and beyond. “Shhh, it’s our little secret.”

“I thought you were independent of the Council? From the newspapers, you’re branded as disobedient breakaways.”

Dean bobs his head exaggeratedly, amused. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is,” Castiel agrees. “Oh, I see. Ellen cannot be seen to choose a side. With the Council fractured so, the Speaker must remain neutral or risk losing her chair. So she has you do her work for her. ”

Dean shrugs. “Sometimes you gotta work within the system.”

“But why didn’t you go back to the front after seeing to Sam?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “’Cause this was the closest safe house I knew to where you found him. Rawlinshire, right? You and your sis had to be holing up somewhere near there. So I came here, sent the word out on the waves, and sat tight.”

Castiel stares. “You came here for me? To make it easier for me to find you?”

Dean taps his forefinger to his temple. “I do have some brains in this noggin, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t even have the fortitude to scold Dean for that belittling remark. He releases his hold on Dean’s wrist, but only so that he can put his fingers in Dean’s shirt, twisting into the cloth and pulling.

“Ooh,” Dean says, so very pleased with himself. “ _Hello_.”

“Be still for a moment.” Castiel leans in. Dean is still smiling when Castiel kisses him. It is a quick kiss, an expression of Castiel’s surprise and gratitude and pleasure, and it would be far less chaste if they weren’t in a public place. Castiel pulls back first, eyes cast down as he tries to remind himself that there are still risks in doing what he’s doing right now.

“Hey.” Dean’s fingers brush Castiel’s chin, gently guiding his face up so their eyes meet again. “What’s up?”

“Just coming to terms with having outed myself,” Castiel says. “A dozen or so people just saw us…being intimate, so unless you have been going around kissing people, my presence will be common knowledge soon enough.”

Dean scrunches up his nose – apologetic but not quite regretful. “One, no, no one’s gonna touch you here ‘cause Bobby’s in charge of the estate, and you’re my better half so you don’t even need to defect or whatever. You’re already one of us. And two, who the _hell_ would I be going around macking on?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says defensively. “You—you tried to remove the tattoo.”

“’Cause I thought it wasn’t working!” Dean exclaims. “Weeks of bullshit everywhere I turned, and it got all these worst-case-scenarios rattling in my head. I don’t know, I thought that surely you would’ve broken it by now because you never wanted it, you freaking told me to my freaking face that you didn’t want it anymore, so I was like – maybe you did break it but I didn’t even feel it ‘cause it’s not working!”

Castiel squints at him. “Why would a marriage tattoo suddenly malfunction?”

Dean groans. “It made sense in my head, okay. There was, you know, there was the extra binding on top, so I thought maybe that messed it up or something.” He shrugs, ducks his head, runs his fingers over his stubble self-consciously. “I had a bad day and it made sense. If the tattoo wasn’t working, you could be dead and I wouldn’t even know.”

“But then you did know. You felt the recoil, and you knew I was still out there somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Is that why you put that in your letter? You said that you’d be fine if I removed the tattoo?”

“Yes, I thought that you started to remove it but then hesitated because… of something. I considered you might have needed my permission.”

“So you _don’t_ want to remove it,” Dean says carefully.

Castiel’s neck is warm. “No. I decided that if you want it removed, then you should do it yourself. I would have no part in that.”

“Ah.” Dean does that thing where he bobs his head and makes a show of pretending to think about something, when that lightning mind of his has already considered all the aspects and come to a conclusion that is very pleasing to him. “Cool.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” Castiel says earnestly.

Just like that, the mischievous twinkle is back in Dean’s eye. “Hey now, it’s looking much brighter from here on out.”

The courtyard is busy, but when Castiel casually glances around, everyone seems to be occupied with doing their own thing. If there are curious eyes, they are polite enough to stay averted when Castiel looks up. Castiel knows he is being complacent where he should be on better guard, but his heart continues to tap out a stubborn, selfish prayer – let him have this, _please_ just let him have this.

“You’ll do your best to keep me safe,” Castiel says.

“That is true,” Dean says, “but I know that sometimes my best doesn’t cut it. I do really think you’re good here, though. My buddies – they know about you. They know what you’ve done for me, for Sam.”

“Ah, so you have been telling people about me,” Castiel says with a nod. “I was wondering why your friend Charlie was so quick to drag me right to you.”

Dean tries to shrug dismissively, but he’s betrayed by the pink tips of his ears. “Eh, some.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “All right.” He did tell himself that he would be content if he could just see Dean again. That he has received Dean’s smile, and touched him and kissed him – that is all just a tremendous bonus. “What else would you like to show me?”

* * *

For these past weeks, Castiel’s only exposure to Dean has been through his broadcasts. On the radio, Dean’s speech is carefully modulated – his tone is kept level, his words clear (most of the time) and the swearing mild to non-existent. Yet, in a variety of ways, that ‘polite’ Dean is far more honest and frank than the Dean that Castiel knew before they’d parted ways on the coast of Ilchester. Almost all their face-to-face conversations back then had been littered with assumptions and caution and emotional landmines; in retrospect Castiel does not know how he bore all of it.

This Dean – the one who is currently leading Castiel up a winding staircase – is both those Deans and neither. He swears, he jokes, he trips on his words, he laughs too loudly. But he also beams when Castiel expresses his admiration for the set-up of the commune that Dean had a hand in putting together, and Dean’s also shockingly frank in his admission that he’s pissed it took so long to spur people into action.

“See, Mom was convinced that Grandpappy Samuel was playing the game,” Dean says. “He’s her dad, yeah, and the past couple years it’s been getting better between us and that side of the family, so she was doing her best not to think the worst. Even when I told her what we figured out ‘bout Grandpa being in touch with the anti-royalists, and what you found out from Michael on how Lucifer’s been pulling the strings, she still said she wanted to hear his side of the story first.”

“Oh. That must have been frustrating.”

“Yeah. No time to properly deal with that either, so I split.” Dean says this casually, matter-of-factly, though Castiel knows it must have been an awful decision to make. “But that was then. Lines keep being moved. Mom’s part of our connection to the other Houses now, getting stuff done.”

“It still must have been very difficult to leave your parents behind.”

“Oh, only Mom was at Ilchester, remember? Dad was searching for Sam. Anyways, I got Victor, Jo, a couple others to come with me, so I still had a good circle to start with, you know? We were well out of town when Lucifer blew up Michael’s ship.”

They’ve reached the landing of the fifth floor, and Castiel leans heavily against the wall to catch his breath while Dean peers out the nearest window. The ceiling is much lower here than the floors they’d just passed through, but the windows along one side of the wall fill the place with warmth, and so cancel out the potential claustrophobia. The glass of the windows haven’t been cleaned in a while but Castiel can see the roofs of the nearby buildings, the courtyards and corridors in between, and the vehicles parked in the field beyond. That may even be the town of East Canaan itself in the distance.

“After that,” Dean continues, “practically everyone was running panicking, so me and the crew were a... you could say a lighthouse in a storm. Got people rallying to us slowly but steadily. Dad came to us first – I wanna say it was ‘cause he always had my back, but I think it’s ‘cause he’s had his suspicions about Grandpa for a while. Yeah, and after that Dad got Mom over. Yay!”

Castiel completely and utterly fails to find something comforting to say at this point. Everything kindly he can think of sounds useless and insipid even in his head.

When Dean starts to turn away to the nearest door, the possibility that Dean might conclude that he doesn’t care at all is what scares Castiel into blurting out, “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”

That has Dean double-taking and turning back. “Abuh-what?”

“These are terrible, sensitive things. Your brother was missing, your mother left behind, your father possibly in danger...”

“And you disappeared to god knows where,” Dean adds.

Castiel flushes. “That’s not the... _Dean_.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean drawls, his eyes sly with amusement. He’s leaning against the door, one hand on the doorknob, his body a long line of strength. Castiel can’t tell if this is a deliberate pose meant to accentuate his attractiveness, but if it is, it is working. “I’m telling you ‘cause I wanna tell you, and it feels fucking good to tell you.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, struggling, “I only arrived today, we’ve barely started to catch up—”

“You took a huge risk coming here,” Dean says. “ _Huge_ risk, and if it was me I don’t know if I’d have the balls to do that without massive back-up. And you did it for me. I’m not blind.”

Castiel is unable to move from his spot against the wall opposite Dean. He can only look at him, befuddled by the protectiveness swelling in his chest when by all accounts this is a situation where Castiel is the one who has to rely on Dean’s protection.

“I didn’t do it so I could demand you bare yourself to me in return,” Castiel says.

Dean nods, smiling. “I know. Come on in.” He turns and shoulders the door behind him open.

This room beyond the doorway is narrow, with gray walls, a sloping ceiling and one window of frosted glass which seems to be more for ventilation than the view. There are two cots that are technically on opposite sides of the room, but said room is small enough that the cots’ inhabitants could kick each other awake if they so wished to. Dean toes off his boots near the door, so Castiel leaves his shoes there before drifting over to Dean’s side of the room, which is demarcated by the plaid and leather clothing hanging on the wall.

“You can sit down anywhere. Wasn’t expecting company but it’s all clean, I promise.” Dean drops to the floor to peer under his cot. He pulls out a duffel and starts rummaging through it. “How ‘bout you? What’ve you been up to?”

There are no chairs in the room, but there is a small stack of blankets on the floor, roughly the size suitable for a makeshift seat. Castiel takes it. “I’ve been staying with my sister. Though I think you already knew that.”

Dean leans back on his haunches and gives Castiel a look. “Still wanna hear it from you.”

Although it feels foolish to talk of it in light of everything that Dean’s been through, Castiel tells him. He speaks about Rexford, Anna’s cottage, the library, getting a job at the Gas-n-Sip, Anna’s allowing Castiel to assist in her communication network. Dean listens, _oh_ how he listens. He is attentive and curious and occasionally asks Castiel questions that he tries his best to answer.

“But I’m guessing nothing’s come back the other way,” Dean says. “I mean, you and your sis are sending messages out, but there’s no messages coming in to you guys from the Isles.”

“No one knows who Anna is, as far as lineage goes,” Castiel says. “She has shed her history. As for me, I am content to be invisible in her shadow.”

“You’ve done a great job taking care of each other. I knew you would. Anyway, this is for you.” Dean has a misshapen newspaper-wrapped package in his lap, which he’d taken out of the duffel bag in the middle of Castiel’s description of his recent activities.

Castiel takes the package from Dean, and knows what it is as soon as he grips it in his hands. “Letters?”

“Yeah, been holding those for you,” Dean says. “Rachel sent them to me.”

“Rachel?” Castiel echoes. “My Rachel?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, your Rachel. After we escaped, Michael sent her and a bunch of others back over the sea for, uh… ‘disciplinary action’. That’s what she told me over the wire, anyway.”

Castiel reels. “Rachel has been in contact with you? Despite the communication blackout?”

“Yeah, and she made contact with us _first_ ,” Dean says. “Set up another line of intel sanctioned nice and neat by Naomi and her... whatever group they’re calling themselves these days.”

“And Michael doesn’t know about this?”

Dean presses a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

“But why would Rachel... why would _Naomi_ want to be in contact with you?”

“She and Ellen still want to salvage this somehow,” Dean says. “Their pipedream hangs on, even with Michael and Lucifer trying to bash each other over the head. They don’t tell me everything, of course, but they share just enough for the talks to remain open. The way I figure, they can do whatever they want, I’m just happy to get deets of the orders Michael’s been sending out – for supplies, troops, whatever. It helps us figure out Michael’s movements, and we can help people on the ground.”

So Rachel is secretly in contact with Dean, Naomi is secretly subverting Michael’s commands, and Ellen is secretly supporting Dean and his underground radio station. The thing that surprises Castiel most is not that there are so many side deals being made, but that Ellen would bypass the king that way.

Castiel’s understanding is that the Council has not yet given up on trying to engage the royal brothers and getting them to stand down. The problem is that Ellen is unable to make a strong stand because the continental Houses are split – some are for Michael, others for Lucifer, some neither. If that is the case, then Ellen must be searching for some other means of action, perhaps with Naomi as an ally.

“They must be working on something treasonous,” Castiel says. “Anything that undermines the king’s efforts has to be. Raphael is Michael’s regent at court, and he is very cunning and loyal.”

“So I’ve heard,” Dean says. “I don’t know much ‘bout that, to be honest. Maybe your letters can tell you more.”

That draws Castiel’s attention back to the package of letters on his lap. On the surface, letters could be easier to deal with, but who knows what their content might be. Castiel unwraps the packaging, revealing the topmost letter that has the familiar messy scrawl of Balthazar’s script.

“They’re in order.” Dean sits down on the floor close to Castiel’s legs. The angle means Castiel see the top of Dean’s head; his hair is fairer than Castiel’s remembers, though perhaps it’s been bleached by long days out in the sun. “I sorted them – oldest at the top, newest at the bottom. The ones that came through the wire have all been translated.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says earnestly.

Dean hums an acknowledgement, but mostly he’s watching Castiel study the envelopes one by one and putting names to the different types of handwriting. Castiel doesn’t jump when Dean rests his hand lightly on Castiel’s knee, but he does put the letters down when Dean props his chin on Castiel’s thigh.

“What?” Castiel asks.

At this angle, Dean’s eyes seem larger, wider, full of infinite mischief and curiosity. “What’s up with the hair, Green Gables?”

“It’s part of my disguise,” Castiel says. “And my hair is currently red, not green. Unless you are color-blind and have trouble differentiating between the two.”

“No, it’s a reference to… You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Yes.”

“Oh, geez.” Dean sighs, eyes drifting shut, and he presses his forehead against Castiel’s thigh. “I’m just so glad you’re here, Cas.”

“Likewise.” The letters are important, but there are many things that are important. Castiel moves his hand onto Dean’s head, gently pushing his fingers through the strands of hair. Dean sighs at the touch, and Castiel thinks they have never had a moment of understanding as true as this one. If they are good and work hard, it will be the first of many.

“Thank you for helping Sam,” Dean says.

Castiel swallows the automatic protest rising in his throat, and instead says, “You’re welcome. I would very much like to see him again.”

“I’ll make that happen,” Dean vows.

“Perhaps…” Castiel pats the stack of letters. “Perhaps I shall read these later.”

Dean lifts his head up, showing Castiel his smile. “That’s cool, too. You should keep ‘em in your… Hey, you don’t have a bag. Don’t you have one?”

“It’s in the car,” Castiel says. “Not my car, Anna’s car.”

Dean starts. “Anna dropped you off here?”

“She’s in one of the refugee blocks, she was talking with some of the people there.”

“Anna is _here_?” Dean exclaims. “Oh Jesus Christ, Cas, does she know you’re with me or not?”

“Um.” Castiel blinks. “I don’t know. I think she would be able to find out quite easily, we did have an audience in the mess hall.” He watches, bewildered, as Dean sighs and draws himself back up onto his feet.

“She’s gonna kick my ass,” Dean says with your groan. “She’s your big sis, I know how it works. I gotta go say hi.”

“You don’t _have_ to.” Castiel thinks. “Actually, you’re right. We should go.”

Dean laughs, but he does press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek before they begin the arduous journey back down to find Anna.

* * *

Castiel must ask: “What did Sam tell you about her?”

“That she knows her shit,” Dean says. Walking down five flights and across three buildings means that there’s the opportunity for more chit-chat before they get to Anna. “And that she grilled him pretty hard about me, which means that I owe him a big one for defending my honor. But that’s just what he said, and he’s a jerk, so maybe he lied.”

“I doubt he lied,” Castiel replies, “but I suspect that there was mutual grilling involved.”

Dean jerks to stop, almost causing Castiel to run right into him. “What?”

“Sam strikes me as the sort to fight back. If Anna grilled him about you, no doubt he did the same to her about me.”

Castiel can imagine it easily, and he’d even seen Anna and Sam debate over the news bulletins on television, so it stands to reason they could argue over other closer-to-home topics. Castiel doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it. How can he, when Dean is breaking into a slow grin, and his hand is resting casually on Castiel’s arm as though it has not occurred to him to put a sensible few inches between their bodies?

Dean taps a finger to Castiel’s nose. “I like the way you think.”

They find Anna easily, for she is still in the refugee center, though by the time they get there she’s seemingly set up a discussion committee in one corner where the participants sit in a circle of chairs. Anna stands up when she sees Dean and Castiel approach the circle; the others with her belatedly stand up as well. A few of them even recognize Castiel immediately, and bob their heads in a quick, informal bow.

“Hey, you must be Anna,” Dean says, thrusting a hand out. “Dean Winchester.”

Anna accepts the handshake. “At last.”

Dean grins. “He’s told me so much about you.”

“Likewise. No, wait.” Anna gives Castiel a look. “I meant the _opposite_ of that.”

“Really?” Dean turns to Castiel with an exaggerated expression of hurt, and presses a hand over his sternum. “You never told her ‘bout me?”

Castiel clears his throat. “I feared that if I ever started talking about you, I would never stop, and then Anna would be so sick of me that she’d throw me out of her house.”

Anna stares, and then barks a laugh. “Wow. Impressive _._ ”

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

The woman closest to Anna subtly rises from her seat and nods at Dean to take it. Castiel backs off as well, happy to give Anna and Dean a chance to converse. Dean seems particularly thrilled at the chance, and has no doubt gotten so used to Castiel’s brand of skeptical squint that he is no longer affected by Anna’s.

“This is a very nice set-up you have here,” Anna says to Dean. “They tell me that it’s new?”

“Ah, yeah, officially we’re not allowed to do this ‘cause there’s already an embassy in this county, but they’re swamped right now as well.” Dean turns to the rest of the circle and gives a cheery wave. “Hey, all! Settling in okay?”

As Dean addresses the rest of Anna’s circle, the woman who’d risen from her seat drifts over to Castiel’s side. Her smile is friendly, so Castiel responds in kind. “I’m not sure what the protocol is,” she confesses. “How am I supposed to address you?”

“Castiel is fine,” Castiel says. “I have no title as far as the current situation stands. Are you my sister’s contact?”

“Hannah, yes,” she says. “I had no idea who she was – who you were. It’s been quite… educational.”

“Are you staying here?” Castiel asks.

Hannah demurs that no, she isn’t staying here as she has her own place in town, but she’d heard about the set-up and came to visit to ensure her kinsmen were being taken care of. She explains that officially this center should not exist as only government-owned buildings can be used for such purposes, but concessions have to be made when the town is overflowing.

“May I speak candidly?” Hannah asks, her voice low. “Your sister has always appreciated that from me, so I’m guessing you might be the same?”

“Yes, very much,” Castiel agrees.

Hannah’s smile is grateful, but Castiel doesn’t miss the anxious way her eyes dart towards Dean. “I just wish to say that I think it’s a wonderful that you are letting yourself be seen. I understand, of course, that it’s been necessary for you to keep a low profile, but your physical presence, it gives – or will give – many of us great comfort and relief.”

“I don’t see how.” Castiel frowns. “Is it because I was a public figure?”

“Yes, some of it is that,” Hannah says carefully, “but there was also… I hope you don’t take offense.”

“I will try my best.”

“When the fighting broke out, you disappeared,” Hannah says. “Yes, there were bigger things happening, with His Majesty and the exiled brother, but you must understand that for those of us on the outside, who have been following your exploits since the announcement of your wedding, your sudden erasure was most… startling. Distressing, even.”

Castiel nods. “Yes, I see.”

“News may move poorly in these times,” Hannah continues, “but it does move. So do rumors. It became known that Dean Winchester is with the renegade hunters, and he has been seen all over the country, but there’s been no word of _you_. People… talk.”

It is so absurd that Castiel has to laugh. “Did people think that he had done away with me?”

Hannah narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Is it really out of the question? We only had his word that you were safe, and even that was a third-hand, fourth-hand report down the vine. It is difficult enough how many of us have had to keep our nationalities hidden in order to avoid becoming targets by close-minded locals. People relate to you and your situation.”

Castiel’s gaze drifts back to Dean, who has his arms crossed while Anna gestures wildly in expressing her argument. Dean is smiling and bobbing his head from side to side in the way that means he doesn’t necessarily agree with her, but is willing to play along for now. It looks like a productive conversation.

“Do you listen to his nightly broadcasts?” Castiel asks.

Hannah frowns at the apparent change of topic. “Wait. Dean really _is_ the Handyman?”

“And I’m his Emmanuel,” Castiel says.

Hannah inhales sharply. “Ah.”

“You will help get that out, won’t you?” Castiel asks. “Not the part where it’s Dean on the radio, but the part where he’s found me again? I am whole and healthy, and if that gives our people courage, then they should know.”

“Hope, too, I think,” Hannah says. “It would offer hope.”

Dean cannot be listening in to their conversation when he’s in the middle of his own, but he looks up at Castiel just then. He relaxes when he sees Castiel – perhaps he needs reassurance that Castiel is still there, or perhaps he sees the happiness on Castiel’s face that Dean has not yet done something to warrant Anna’s bludgeoning him over the head with his chair.

Dean has never been this open with his emotions before. Castiel understands why, for these are such different times and the things that once mattered no longer do. Yet Castiel is overwhelmed by this as much as he feels inadequate by it; he knows how he is seen from the outside, all cold and stiff and formal. Castiel must cultivate the skill to comfort Dean properly, and to make him know that he is appreciated, not merely for what he has done, but for who he is.

Castiel wants to know who Dean is, without all that extraneous bullshit.

“Truly amazing,” Anna says loudly.

Dean jumps, Castiel jumps, and apparently they have been staring at each other long enough that it necessitated a comment from the peanut gallery.

“I suppose that puts another rumor to rest as well,” Hannah adds quietly at Castiel’s shoulder.

“That it was all for show?” Castiel says softly. “No, not all of it. _This_ is ours.”

* * *

Castiel’s arrival at the Turner Estate doesn’t mean that Dean can drop everything. Well, he _does_ drop everything for his tour, and showing Castiel his room and the letters, and chatting with Anna, but then duty draws him back in. Dean explains that intel is being chewed up constantly in-house, but he does his own prep work before going on air so he knows what he’s talking about.

“You can come watch, if you want,” Dean says.

“You mean, in your studio?” Castiel asks. “Is that allowed?”

“Obviously,” Dean says.

The magic, as Dean calls it, happens in yet another building, this one at the back of the estate grounds where there’s better noise control. Dean takes Castiel and Anna there, up to the first floor where there’s a large round room that could be used as a conference room except for where it’s currently filled with mix-matched furniture strewn with papers, maps and electronics. There is a tent-like structure at one end of the room, its frame padded with cushions and its walls and roof made out of what appears to be parachute material.

Bobby is in this room, as are Charlie and a handful of other people Castiel doesn’t know. Castiel is very much a stranger here, but he is reassured by Anna’s presence and the way Dean tells his compatriots, “They’re with me. So what’ve you got?”

Castiel hangs back out of politeness, but Anna has no qualms about hovering close to Dean to listen in to the discussion. They speak quickly, efficiently, and more often than not use lingo that Castiel can’t quite decipher. There’s a mention of Stanford, where there’s no change, but a group known to be friendly to Lucifer has been spotted moving in on Michael’s last known position.

“We gonna share that?” Dean asks his team. “We could keep it down for now, give Victor the chance to move. What do you think?”

So this is what Dean’s been doing. Castiel had wanted to know, and now he does, and it is as satisfying as he thought it would be. Castiel’s only been here a few hours and he’s been inundated with so much new information, such as the fact that _this_ is what it looks like when Dean holds court. Castiel’s never seen Dean truly in his element before, discussing important matters with his peers, listening and being listened to.

They have a decent system in place now, Castiel can see that much. Dean has surrounded himself with a handful of crucial people, and they collate the information before bringing it to Dean and deciding by committee what is to be presented to their listeners. Once the main decisions are made, the rest of them fall away, letting Dean process the notes by himself and compose the night’s material in his head.

Castiel starts a little at the sound of someone clearing their throat. It’s Bobby Singer, who says, “You get anything decent in you yet?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel says.

“Have you eaten, is what I mean,” Bobby says.

“No,” Anna says, appearing at Castiel’s other side, “not anything decent.”

“There’s cold cuts and coffee over there,” Bobby says. “Help yourself, both of you. This your sister?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Anna, this is Bobby. Dean tells me he is currently the master of this estate.”

Bobby snorts. “That’s a way to put it.”

Charlie appears at Bobby’s shoulder, still armed with her clipboard. “You totes should put that on a nametag, Rufus would get a kick out of it. Hey, Cas! Pretty sweet set-up, huh? It’s all mobile, easily packed and shipped – which is kinda necessary since we move around so much.”

“Was it your idea, or Dean’s?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, it was Dean’s,” Charlie says, while Bobby snorts and wanders off to deal with something or the other. “It was a joke at first, actually – we were a teeny weeny bit drunk, ‘cause we were pissed at this other national station that had its head so far up its ass, insisting oh, gee, everything’s under control, go to sleep, dear citizen! I don’t think Dean thought I could actually get this thing running, but I did, because I’m awesome. And since _he_ said that he would take the mic if I could get us on the air, he’s stuck.”

“He’s hardly ‘stuck’,” Anna observes. “Seems to me he relishes it.”

Charlie nods, clearly excited and proud of their accomplishment. “It’s so cathartic you don’t even know. We don’t know how many listeners we have, but it’s good to get the word out at all. Oop, I have to start warm-up! Here, you guys can share my headphones.” She unwraps the large headpiece resting around her neck and passes it to Castiel. “We don’t have playback while we’re recording ‘cause of the feedback loop, so if you want to listen in you’ll have to use those.” With that she bounds off to the canvas tent, chirping out orders as she goes.

Castiel elbows Anna gently. “What do you think?”

“There’s too many of them,” Anna says. “I don’t think I can steal any of their equipment without being noticed.”

“Anna,” Castiel chides.

“To be fair, I’m only half-joking.”

“I mean about Dean,” Castiel says. “What do you think about him?”

Anna levels Castiel with a look. “He’s… charming? Oh come on, you don’t need my opinion, Castiel. If that is who you want, then that is who you want.”

For now, in this place, it _can_ be that simple. Dean is just a part of this semi-independent movement that is striving to protect civilians; Castiel is just one of those many civilians who hope to make it out of the conflict unscathed. It’s an awful kind of irony that it’s only during this current crisis – fragile and changeable as it is – that Castiel can be free to love Dean. There is no tactical advantage to be gained by it, no possible hidden agenda.

“Hey,” Anna says gently. “Let’s get something to munch.”

There are a few windows in this room, but they’ve all been boarded up, presumably to keep the noise out. The functioning crew is busy setting things up, so Castiel and Anna find the snacks Bobby mentioned and stay out of their way. Castiel isn’t particularly hungry, but takes the sandwich that Anna puts in his hands, and they sit down on the closest stools to watch.

Dean catches Castiel’s eye from across the room. He points at the tent – that is where they do the recording, evidently – and then taps his finger to his lips. Castiel nods, promising to be quiet.

Only Dean and Charlie enter the canvas tent, while others stay outside to deal with the electronics or other important business. Anna eats her sandwich and mumbles that she left her notebook in the car. Castiel maneuvers Charlie’s headphones that it rests between his and Anna’s heads, so they may listen in.

One of the hunters – a tall woman with fair hair – raises her hand for the countdown, and the room falls into an expectant quiet. Four, three, two, one, and then the speaker near Castiel’s ear crackles to life.

“ _We are in and you are listening_ ,” Dean says. “ _Stanford is still, Elle hasn’t moved but the perimeter has been locked down._ ”

Goosebumps rise along Castiel’s arms. He is struck by a strong sense of displacement – his body feels like it should be in Anna’s cottage, sipping a hot drink and curled in one of her chairs, but he is not. He is a foreign place, surrounded by foreign people and removed from the safety of Anna’s home. But on the flipside, that voice – _that voice_ – which has for weeks been an unattainable fairytale-like presence of a far away land, is but a mere handful of feet away.

“ _Word is that Em’s been firmly locked out from the homeland, no change there,_ ” Dean’s saying. “ _A head’s up, there’s definitely been a stronger focus along the East highways, so there’s probably gonna be trickle down. The same ol’ story applies._ ”

Castiel always feels small when listening in to these broadcasts, but tonight he feels smaller still. The Turner estate overwhelms Castiel with its scale, but it is but one location, and not anywhere close to the conflict zone. Castiel has no sway in the machinations of this crisis – he cannot talk to Michael, Lucifer or the Houses embroiled in it, and he has no idea how to push them into an accord.

It is a little difficult to manage, what with the headphones being balanced between them, but Castiel manages to take Anna’s hand in his and squeeze gently.

Tonight’s news is delivered quickly: the situation at Stanford has calmed down, but no one’s allowed in or out, and there’s a stand-off between the forces who have set up in that area. Michael still has the beach, Lucifer has the college, and someone has burned down the trees surrounding the exit to the nearest highway, though neither party has taken credit for that yet.

Perhaps the hunters can just set fire to all the trees in that area, force Michael and Lucifer to get at each other directly. But that would be stupid – the town is still held hostage, the locals unable to get out.

“ _If anyone across the line is listening, hang in there. Help is on the way. Signing off, and good night._ ”

There’s a click, and then someone claps their hands loudly, marking the end of the transmission. Noise and chatter fills the previously quiet room, as though the rest of the world is rushing back in. Charlie and Dean crawl out of the tent though the flap in the side, Charlie nodding at something Dean’s saying.

“I think I’ll head back to the center,” Anna says. “That was very useful and I have some ideas I’d like to run by the others. Will you be okay?”

“Yes, I think so,” Castiel says. “It’s fine, I know where to find you.”

Anna kisses him on the cheek, and as soon as she wanders off Dean is right there, slipping into the space next to Castiel and bumping his shoulder against Castiel’s.

“Verdict?” Dean says. “Was that cool, or was that _massively cool_?”

“I’m hardly the expert on ‘cool’, Dean.”

Dean closes his eyes and performs a full-body shudder, almost dog-like in its exaggeration. It’s the strangest thing, until Dean opens his eyes, looks right at Castiel, and says, “No one says my name like you do.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“Tch, you say that like it’s new info,” Dean retorts. “Wanna see the transmission rig? You’ll love it, come on.”

No one pays them any mind as Dean takes Castiel across the room, over to the other side of the canvas tent to show him how the wiring is set up. Castiel doesn’t understand most of what he’s saying, but he tries to remember it, in case it’ll be useful. It’s true – Castiel is less interested in what Dean’s saying and more in how he’s saying it, because he is so gleeful, so _proud_.

“Does Ellen enable all of this as well?” Castiel asks.

“Not directly, no,” Dean says. “She can’t speak up for us, but she knows what we’re doing. Most of the Council members ain’t happy, of course, which is another reason we gotta keep mobile in case some douchebags try to shut us down.”

“But why do you have to...” Castiel sighs. “It’s complicated?”

“It’s complicated.” Dean cocks his head. “Bonus features, come on.”

“What?”

Dean takes one of the battery-powered lanterns from the table and is off again, pulling Castiel along into a narrow stone staircase embedded in the wall. The wires from the processing electronics lead up here, and Dean chatters on about how they try to set up on as high ground as they can manage, but that isn’t always workable.

“Don’t you relay?” Castiel asks. “To get maximum coverage?”

“We do, but it’s not always reliable,” Dean says. “We’re piggybacking on legit towers so we have to keep scrambling the signal so they can’t block us, and that takes effort. The fewer towers we need, the better. Ah, here we go.”

The light of Dean’s lantern casts the room in a less-helpful yellow glow. This floor is more cluttered than the one below it, but some of its clutter seems functional. There are a few radio receivers here, which Dean confirms are used to receive messages once they’ve rerouted the power from the generator.

“You can send a message to Rachel,” Dean says. “I mean, you can compose something and someone here’ll code it for you to send across.”

“That would be tremendous,” Castiel says. “I suppose I should consume all my letters first, so I’ll have a better idea what to write.”

“Yeah, that works.”

There are a few windows here, but unlike the ones below, they haven’t been boarded up. Dean has commentary on that as well, pointing out that this side of the (albeit small) tower doesn’t face the rest of the estate, but instead overlooks the wilderness beyond. The river used to be much closer, Dean explains, and this was a lookout. Castiel stands close to Dean’s shoulder to appreciate this information – the glass hasn’t been cleaned here, either, but he can see the forest beyond and the suggestion of plains and water further up, though such details are obscured by the early fog.

Dean’s shoulder is solid against Castiel’s. “Past couple of nights I’d come up here after the show for a few minutes,” he says. “Just to get my head together, you know?”

Castiel may not _know,_ but he thinks he’s starting to understand. Dean’s had to hold it together and stay functional through his own personal misfortunes; family means so much to him and that’s what’s taken the hit in these recent times. Castiel was not there to comfort him through it, either. Instead he’d left Dean with his doubts and fears.

Is it any wonder that Dean has been so excited, energetic, exaggerated since Castiel arrived here? Dean must take his joy where he can.

“Your listeners,” Castiel says. “Do you think they would notice you didn’t mention me tonight?”

“Eh.” Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. They can guess, I guess. Maybe they think I gave up. Shit, are you cold?”

“It’s fine, I just forgot my gloves,” Castiel says. “Let me warm my hands on you, then.”

Dean goes still when Castiel rests his hands gently on either side of Dean’s neck. It’s not the most obvious location to go for, but it serves its function by providing warm skin-on-skin contact, plus it causes a surprised flush to rise along Dean’s neck.

“You are such a weirdo,” Dean says quietly.

“You say that as though it’s new information.”

There’s a flash of teeth when Dean grins, and Castiel thinks it might be his turn to go warm in response.

Yes, it is perfectly understandable that Dean has been nothing but pure (if sometimes snarky) sunshine since Castiel arrived here. If Dean is half as happy as Castiel is, then this is how he expresses himself. Castiel never got the hang of reciprocation in the past, but didn’t he say he’d try, if he had the chance? It’s wrong that Castiel can’t meet him halfway – no, it isn’t just wrong, it is _injustice_.

Castiel curls his fingers and holds Dean there as he comes in for a kiss. Dean inhales sharply at the touch of Castiel’s lips, his breath cool against Castiel’s cheek, and this is the first of the sensory overload of the night.

During their last kiss, a mere few hours ago, Castiel had been overwhelmed by shock and unable to experience it fully. Now he can focus on tasting Dean, breathing Dean in, coaxing Dean’s lips apart to slip his tongue between them. Castiel has sometimes let himself dive into his memories of being with Dean but there are gaps in those memories. Now he can relearn the way Dean tilts his head to deepen the kiss, moves his lips, makes soft sounds of pleasure low in his throat.

There is yearning and relief in this. Dean’s kisses are sweet, though Castiel thinks Dean might protest if he described them so out loud. Yet there’s no denying that his kisses _are_ sweet, as is the rest of him – the way he fits his body to Castiel’s, and the way his fingers slip under Castiel’s jacket to find his hips and tug at the hem of his shirt. The brush of Dean’s fingertips against the skin of his stomach alight Castiel’s nerves in the strangest of ways – his breath catches, his knees lock up and his nipples ache for touch.

“Cas,” Dean says, proving he is not always a clever man as he has broken the kiss to speak, “you’ve lost weight.” He squeezes Castiel’s waist to prove his point.

“Then feed me,” Castiel replies. “Feed me, cook for me, like the way you used to.”

“Yeah?” Dean whispers. “Even if I fuck up?”

“All of it,” Castiel insists. All the good parts, because even the bad parts can become good parts if they try. They’d just started to figure it out then, and they can do it better now. Castiel wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulder and pulls him in, interrupting Dean’s soft laugh of response.

Castiel may have been the one to initiate this, but he’s taken aback by the liquid desire that pools low in his stomach and curls up his spine. Exploration doesn’t seem interesting anymore – Castiel _wants_ , and Dean is right there. He’d forgotten how urgency feels, how it makes him shudder and has him grab fistfuls of Dean’s shirt to haul him in. Dean is not close enough, nowhere near close enough, it doesn’t matter that mouths are pressed together and Castiel has his arms wrapped over Dean’s shoulders, it is not enough.

Castiel’s need must be clear, because Dean pushes him gently, just far enough that the backs of Castiel’s thighs hit a surface – a table, Castiel thinks. Then Dean’s knees are moving between Castiel’s, urging his legs open and slotting his hips into the space between. Castiel gasps at the blatant, wonderful, perfect entitlement of it, Dean making himself comfortable in the welcome of Castiel’s arms and legs.

It occurs to Castiel that he could – should – not let it go too far right now. The making out is a good idea, but making out doesn’t require that Castiel rub up onto Dean’s stomach and down onto where Dean’s erection is thickening up. It is not just the physical touch that excites him so, but also the knowledge of the man who is with him and doing this to him. Castiel thought he might never get to see him again and yet here he is, moaning into Dean’s mouth and clawing at his back for that filthy tenderness he knows Dean can give him.

Someone is coughing. Someone who is not Dean, because Dean is still latched onto Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel pulls back with a soft smack. His vision is a little hazy but he squints, struggling to focus. Standing in the stairwell, her back politely turned towards them, is Charlie.

“Heya, guys, this is totally out of my hands,” Charlie says, her voice deliberately loud, “but we need the receivers.”

Dean isn’t looking at Charlie. His forehead is pressed to Castiel’s temple, his eyes half-lidded and his lips parted as he breathes heavily. Dean’s hands, which are still on Castiel’s hips, tighten their grip.

“My fault,” Castiel whispers. He presses a hand to Dean’s chin, and helpfully turns his face towards Charlie.

“Two minutes,” Dean croaks.

“Okeydokey,” Charlie says. “Sam’s scheduled to call soon, so… there’s that, too.”

“I _got_ it, geez,” Dean says. He still isn’t moving, so Castiel unwinds his arms and carefully untangles his legs from where he’d been trying to climb Dean. A gentle push finally has Dean moving back, giving Castiel space to put his feet on the ground and adjust his clothing. Charlie trots back downstairs, humming loudly.

Castiel isn’t that concerned about his appearance, because he’s usually rumpled anyway. He chances a glance at Dean, who is leaning forward with his hands braced on the table edge, his head bowed a little and taking deep breaths.

“My apologies,” Castiel says. “I should have waited until we were somewhere private.”

“Dude, totally do not need an apology for _that_.” Dean meets Castiel’s eyes, and the heat there has Castiel taking a quick step back lest he be tempted again. “But I’ll take the rain check.”

“You’re busy, of course. I’ll go and read my letters.” Castiel watches while Dean straightens up and tugs his jacket into place. Castiel does not look at Dean’s crotch, no matter how curious he is. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah.” Dean rolls his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Castiel goes down the staircase first, Dean a safe few feet behind him. There will be time for kisses later, but for now the machinery has to grind on. There is work to do, and Castiel even has some of his own now.

“I’ll see you later,” Castiel says over his shoulder.

“Go get some dinner,” Dean says. “Take it up to my room if you want to, it’s fine.”

“Ah,” Castiel says. “I may do that. Thank you.”

Dean nods, satisfied for the moment, and then turns away to address his duties with the other hunters still milling about the room.

Castiel should probably check on Anna first. He needs to know what she would like to do, and then adjust his own plans accordingly. Castiel is just about to leave the room when Bobby comes towards him.

“You going to that room he’s sharing with Benny?” Bobby asks.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I know where it is.”

“Then you better be taking this.” Bobby reaches into his jacket and takes out a huge ring of keys. As warden of the estate it makes sense he’d be holding such a piece, but goodness knows how he manages to carry that around, or even find anything on it. Bobby unties a key which looks just like a dozen of its siblings on the ring, and then hands it to Castiel. “That’s for the room, plus the main door of the building.”

“Oh,” Castiel says in surprise. He accepts the key and, propelled by his automatic assumption of protocol in such matters, bows slightly in acceptance. “Thank you.”

Bobby seems to have the face of one who wears a permanent scowl, but he is startled by Castiel’s response, and mumbles something under his breath that Castiel doesn’t quiet catch. It doesn’t sound malicious, though. “Don’t be shy, awright,” Bobby says. “If you need anything.”

“Ah, yes,” Castiel says. “I will do my best not to be shy.” That earns him a snort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Contains:** Brief kink negotiation, mention of consensual somnophilia (I think this is the term, correct me if there's a better one).

It is perhaps a good thing that Dean’s duties keeps him away for the rest of the night, for Castiel’s package requires his full attention for the evening. There are messages from Rachel, Balthazar, Naomi, Inias, and even one semi-formal missive from Gabriel, which is strange enough in itself. A few of the recent pieces are telegraphs, but the bulk of them are letters, their privacy wards still active until Castiel touches them.

The letters provide an additional glimpse to what is happening across the sea, but that’s the key word – a _glimpse_. There’s only so much that can be shared on paper, so Castiel decides to set aside his frustration and focus on the very welcome confirmation that his closest kin are, for the most part, safe. Balthazar has even found time to send vandalized clippings of newspapers, his comments scribbled on Michael’s propaganda articles and lewd remarks around pictures of Castiel’s wedding. It is comforting.

By the time Castiel decides to bunk down, the Turner estate has quieted, most of its inhabitants either gone from the premises or retired for the night. Anna is sleeping in the refugee center; Castiel thinks that it might even be more comfortable there, for Dean’s room (Benny’s room) is cold, the heat leached from its stone walls and floor. The only true attraction of sleeping here is the knowledge that Dean sleeps here, and will perhaps return later.

His nesting bed set up on the floor, Castiel pulls the blanket around himself and tries to calm his thoughts. There is a great deal to process, but he should process it tomorrow with a fresh mind.

In the dark, his eyes are drawn to the silver square of moonlight on the far wall, courtesy of the room’s single high window. Benny’s cot is underneath the square, politely left empty for tonight, while Dean’s cot is to Castiel’s back. The space on the floor may be narrow, but it is not so narrow that Castiel can’t deliberately tuck himself into Dean’s side of the room.

Dean has only a few things here. His clothes in a duffel bag, another pair of boots, his toiletries. There may be more personal things kept away, but the only such thing he’d found – by _accident_ , thank you – was the magazine clipping underneath Dean’s blanket. The page, which had once been glossy, was an image from their last interview with Chuck at Ilchester, i.e. the one where Castiel hadn’t been able to look Dean in the face. Castiel supposes the picture had originally been of both of them, but this one was ripped, Dean’s side of the image removed entirely. All that was left was Castiel’s proud, unsmiling face, and he was so embarrassed to find it he’d quickly tucked it away in Dean’s bag.

What Castiel _can_ relish in right now is this blanket, which has the smell of Dean in its fibers. Castiel is shameless in wrapping himself tight and breathing in.

It is a good day, and not just by Castiel’s sometimes simple standards. It is a _good_ day. Castiel’s eyes are heavy, and he closes them.

A sharp thump jolts Castiel back into awareness. His nose is cold, and it takes a few murky seconds of blinking in the darkness before Castiel realizes that his disorientation is due to his falling asleep, only to be woken up by the figure currently fumbling around the room.

“Sorry,” Dean whispers. Castiel yawns, relaxing, and Dean shoves his boots into a corner. “Hey buddy, why didn’t you take my cot?”

“Can’t fit both of us,” Castiel mumbles.

“Sure you can, you’re not that huge,” Dean says, and Castiel is sleepy enough that it takes a moment to parse that as a joke. Castiel could say something pithy in reply but Dean’s already pulling at the blankets and shimmying his way into Castiel’s cocoon of warmth. “Incoming!”

A part of Castiel knows he should be delighted by Dean’s shoving his calf between Castiel’s, but he is barely awake as it is. Dean’s feet are cold but his stomach is warm. Yes, his stomach is very warm, which is very nice for Castiel’s hands. Dean’s chest would presumably also be warm, except it’s an annoying distance away from Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel forces his eyes open. Dean is propped up on one arm, watching him.

“What?” Castiel asks.

“Sam said that you had a…” Dean’s fingers find Castiel’s chin, his thumb following the shape under the bow of his mouth. “…sexy lumberjack thing going on.”

“Shaved,” Castiel says.

“Before you came here?”

“Mmm. Wanted to look pleasing for you.”

There’s a pause. “Wow,” Dean says, breathless. “ _Wow_.”

Then there’s that body heat Castiel expected, but along with it comes two-hundred-ish pounds of human male that’s rolled on top of him. Castiel groans a half-hearted protest, but Dean’s still _moving,_ snuggling down and fitting himself against Castiel’s body, and this would probably be nice if there was a decent bed underneath them, but there’s only the sleeping bags and a comforter.

“Dean,” Castiel says.

“Wanted to _please_ me, fucking hey.” Dean’s breath is hot where he’s nosing against the side of Castiel’s face.

“Dean.”

“I know, I know.” Dean slides his hip over, drawing some of his weight off of Castiel. “Totally worked, though.”

“Good.” Castiel sighs when Dean improves his position, settling his body more pleasingly against Castiel’s side. Dean hasn’t stilled, but his movements are now small, almost curious – his lips brush Castiel’s ear, and his fingers draw shapes on Castiel’s chest. This is nice. Very nice. Castiel even likes the way Dean’s wrapped a leg over Castiel’s thigh, his slight rocking motions almost hypnotic.

“That okay?” Dean asks softly.

“Yes.” Castiel’s eyelids grow heavy once more. “Thank you.”

* * *

The next time Castiel wakes, the room is still dark but Dean’s already gone from the covers and moving around the room. Castiel pulls his lips back from his teeth and growls his displeasure, which only increases when Dean laughs.

“Why,” Castiel asks plaintively. He may sound pathetic but it is nothing to be ashamed about, especially since it results in Dean kneeling down on the sleeping bag next to Castiel and cupping Castiel’s face gently.

“I got work to do,” Dean says apologetically.

“No,” Castiel says.

“Stay in, it’s fine, I’ll find you later—”

“ _No_.”

“Babe, I swear I don’t want to—”

“Don’t leave me,” Castiel says. “I’m unhappy.”

Dean huffs under his breath and stretches out on his stomach next to Castiel, head propped up on his arms. The sun isn’t up yet but Castiel can see how amused and annoyingly awake Dean is, his eyes focused unerringly on Castiel’s face. Dean’s even cleaned up and combed his hair and put on one of his usual pieces of flannel, which abruptly makes Castiel aware of how filthy and unwashed he is.

“I’m not really wanting to go, either,” Dean says, and Castiel is a petty, petty man for letting that admission fill him with warmth. “But there’s lots to do, and not enough hands to do it.”

“But why _you_.”

Dean grins. “You don’t really mean that.”

“I know. Fine.” Castiel sighs and turns his face a little. “Kiss.”

“Oh, is that how it is.” Dean comes in, his lips warm and lingering on Castiel’s cheek. “Man, you’re awesome like this.”

“Cantankerous and unwashed?”

“Blunt,” Dean says. “Well, even blunter than usual. Saying right what’s in that head o’ yours.”

“Yet you will not stay and please me.” When Dean’s expression falters, Castiel quickly shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want monopoly of you. That’s unfair. Go, please.”

“Okay.” Does Dean sound fond? He sounds fond. Castiel wishes he could bury himself under the blanket. “So I’ll see you later, all right?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles weakly. This time when Dean stands up Castiel doesn’t protest. He merely drinks in the sight of Dean prepared for the day ahead, and Castiel realizes that the swell in his chest isn’t just pleasure, it’s _pride_. Dean needs to have a purpose, but on his own merits, on his own terms. Castiel is looking at exactly that.

“Uh,” Dean says, pulling his jacket into place around him. “Everything okay there?”

“I am grateful to know you,” Castiel says.

“Oh.” Dean double-takes, and then makes a gun gesture at Castiel. “Back atcha.”

Castiel doesn’t go back to sleep after Dean leaves. Dean’s words linger with him – _lots to do, not enough people to do it_ – and Castiel thinks that may be relevant to more than just Dean’s associates. Castiel tilts his head around, bringing into view the package of letters still resting underneath Dean’s cot.

Well, getting up early means that Castiel can perhaps use the bathroom without curious eyes following him. There’s only one bathroom on this floor at the end of the hall, though it is clean and functional (which is impressive in itself, for a house of this size).

So Castiel gets up. He has a wash and gets dressed, and only bumps into one other tenant on his floor, who is half-asleep and barely notices him when they pass in the hallway.

By the time Castiel heads downstairs, the estate is well on its way to waking up. Castiel is less self-conscious this morning than he was last night, as though sleeping on the premises has functionally inducted him into this community. Many of the people here are strangers to this compound, and Castiel has as much right as any of them to be here.

The commissary is in full swing, and this time Castiel has a better appreciation for the work that must go into keeping a place like this running. There are scant familiar faces, though – Benny isn’t in the hall, but Bobby is, and they nod an acknowledgement at each other.

Another face Castiel doesn’t expect to see is Kevin, he of the Tran family and Ellen’s one-time-assistant, who freezes when they almost run into each other as they’re leaving the counter. Kevin is carrying a bowl of what appears to be a hearty helping of oatmeal, the food almost sloshing over the rim when he flails.

“Uh,” Kevin says.

“Your hair is much shorter, Mr. Tran,” Castiel says. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Wow, I could totally say the same thing.” Kevin shakes his head. “Except, no, it’d be in the other direction. I’m sorry, I am not awake enough for this. Where’s Dean?”

“Somewhere. Working.” Castiel is surprised by Kevin’s reaction of surprise. Either Kevin didn’t expect Castiel to be allowed to roam the grounds, or Kevin didn’t expect Castiel to be roaming the grounds without Dean somewhere in the immediate vicinity. Castiel decides to take the second, far more flattering assumption. “Will you sit with me? You can say no.”

“Oh,” Kevin says. “Um. Sure, okay.”

They find an unoccupied table and sit opposite each other. Around them the breakfast rush continues, filling the hall with such a cacophony of noise that it doesn’t even matter if their one table ends up with awkward silence.

“I heard you were around,” Kevin says as he starts on his meal, “but I guess it didn’t really sink in? I thought you’d… No offense! I thought you wouldn’t want to hang around here too long.”

“None taken,” Castiel assures him. “I’m either too trusting, or too reckless. I haven’t decided which.”

“I suppose it’ll depend on the outcome.”

“True.” Castiel has only taken some coffee and fruit for himself, which he peels carefully to eat. Opposite him Kevin is ravenous, scooping spoonfuls of nourishment with little care for decorum. “Is your family well?” Kevin goes still, and Castiel grimaces. “I apologize.”

“No, it’s—it’s fine,” Kevin says. “I’m working on it.”

Of course he is. They’re all working on it. There are things that need doing, and there are people that need to be doing it.

“I’m sure it’s no picnic for you, either, sir,” Kevin says. “I mean, with your status as… you know.”

“Just ‘Castiel’ will do, thank you. Because of my status as… you know.” It takes a moment for Kevin to pick up the joke. His smile is a welcome one, and Castiel smiles back, adding, “I’m doing pretty well, all things considered. I just don’t want to make things worse, or give either of my cousins leverage.”

Kevin laughs a little. “Dang, that is so weird. ‘Cousins’. I mean, I know that’s what they _are_ , but hearing someone refer to them that way, it’s like they’re just relatives you try to avoid during the holidays.”

“They are, but simply on a larger scale,” Castiel says. “I’ve never met Lucifer, but I can safely say that I’ve put in tremendous effort in avoiding Michael for the holidays.”

“Man.” Kevin gazes at Castiel in open astonishment. “I’ve met him. He’s very… compelling. It’s easy to see why some of the powerful Houses are drawn to him, despite everything. It’s like he has a reality-warping force field around him.”

Castiel nods. “I’ve been told that his brother is the same way. And so it becomes a competition on who is more compelling, and who is more desperate.”

“That’s not a competition. Obviously Lucifer’s more desperate, because he’s clawing up from nothing.”

“I disagree,” Castiel says. “Michael knows that he must have a decisive win. If the fighting comes to a standstill, or Lucifer is defeated by someone else – that will not fulfil the image of the powerful lord that Michael presents himself to be. A peace treaty isn’t in his interests. Whereas Lucifer can run and hide, bide his time again in search of weakness, and there will always be people who will follow him.”

“Okay, I understand that, but…” Kevin trails off, thinking. “Is this about pride?”

“It’s about the right to rule,” Castiel says. “It stands upon the belief that God chose Michael to be our king. If Michael does not have a strong victory, then it must mean that God isn’t on his side.”

Understanding blooms slowly across Kevin’s face. “That makes your monarchy sound kinda fragile.”

“Hence the iron fist it requires.” Castiel shrugs at Kevin’s expression of horror. “I’m quite sure that Ellen already knows all of this.”

“Maybe,” Kevin says, in such a way that makes Castiel think he hasn’t seen her in a while, “but it sounds terrifying to hear it laid it out like that. And yet… it explains a lot.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, it explains some of the moves His Highness has made. He just keeps pushing, even when he doesn’t have the advantage, and it confuses the heck out of me. It’s like, is that arrogance or ignorance or what? And yet it’s kinda why people get drawn to him? That kind of self-assurance is impressive.”

Kevin is correct about that. The aura of majesty can be heady, almost drug-like. Those in pursuit of power are drawn to it, and Michael uses that to his advantage. Yet, Castiel is amused by Kevin’s description of how Michael acts as though he has the constant upper hand even when he doesn’t. Michael must be so upset that the conflict has gone for this long, and he has yet to defeat his brother and woo the continent.

They talk a little more about the compound, the food, Castiel’s sitting in on last night’s broadcast and Kevin’s role transcribing and translating the messages that pass through the hub. It is nice, and nicer still is when Kevin is finally able to call Castiel by his name.

* * *

If Castiel were in Rexford right now, he would be managing the cashier or stocking the shelves, and keeping his head down in minding his own business. Nora may have given him extra time off, but Castiel still feels that pull to his duties there. That’s the way it’s been for weeks, which is why he now marvels at the sheer number of eyes watching him and listening to everything he has to say.

“So,” Hannah says curiously, “your argument is that it _isn’t_ treasonous to disagree with the king?”

“My argument is that treason is a subjective concept,” Castiel replies. “Just as loyalty is a subjective concept. It’s my understanding that Lucifer considers himself loyal to the Crown, as it had been worn by his father. He is acting upon a position where he is returning truth to the throne, and from that position, it is Michael who is treasonous.”

“That’s just an excuse, though,” Hannah returns. “Michael’s anointed. Legally and spiritually, that makes him king, and Lucifer must know that.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Castiel says. “His excuses aren’t the same as his reasons.”

Hannah nods, processing this, while Castiel sits back and considers that he is not disconcerted by the attention. He’s not even all that sure how he arrived in this position, sitting at a table with a handful of Hannah and Anna’s acquaintances, with perhaps a few other curious bystanders trying not to look like they’re listening in.

The refugee center is a community in itself, almost a self-enclosed spin-off from the greater estate due to its mix of inhabitants. Anna spent the night here, during which she’d apparently befriended everyone. She knows their names, their stories, who are the ones who’ve been living in this land for the years and the ones who were merely on the wrong side of the sea when the fighting started. Anna understands and connects to their feelings of displacement, along with all the anger, confusion and bewilderment it brings.

When Castiel arrived here after breakfast there was a grand argument going on between Anna and a few others, something to do with their disbelief at Anna’s connection to the royal family, and how she’d willingly left the safety of an assured home for the unknown. Why would she do that, how could she do that, it is impossible she could have gotten away with that, et cetera.

As for Castiel, he is humbled by everything he has seen and heard here in this estate, in the towns, over the radio. He is made to recognize that there is something else he can do. He can’t provide protection and food, like Dean, or connection and comfort, like Anna, but he can speak. He’d failed to speak in the past, after all, and maybe this is his second chance.

Anna told him earlier that it’s fine, that he doesn’t have to share anything he doesn’t want to. But Castiel does want to. There is risk in letting these people know who he is, but Castiel thinks that there is greater benefit in their knowing what he knows, and pushing back against the rumors and misinformation.

“Uh, your Lordship,” a young man, Daniel, says. “Pardon my saying, but I think you… didn’t really answer her question.”

Castiel has given up asking them not to call him by his old titles. “What was Hannah’s original question? Oh, right. Whether I believe that I have committed treason by undermining Michael’s orders. Well…” He pauses to think, while the rest of the table patiently waits for his answer. “At the time, I wasn’t framing it that way, or looking for a loophole. My heart, my mind, believed that it was treason, so it was a conscious treasonous act.”

“So you chose this country,” says Daniel’s companion, a young woman named Adina. “You chose the Republic over home.”

“No,” Castiel says. “How can I, when I barely knew this country at the time? I don’t think I know it very well even now. And no, I wasn’t choosing my husband over my king. I was choosing what I believed was right over what was wrong. Invasion of a foreign nation – there’s no justification for that, I don’t care who you are.”

“But he’s the _king_ ,” Daniel whispers, and a murmur of distressed agreement passes over the table, save for Anna, who is trying not to smile. “I mean – it’s not that I _want_ him to invade, I—I like it here, I do.”

“I understand what you’re trying to say,” Castiel says. “But that’s your philosophical dilemma. We cannot call the islands our home, unless we are loyal to its land and its crown. That is something all of us have to deal with.”

Hannah clears her throat. “How did _you_ deal with it?”

Castiel meets Anna’s eyes, almost on instinct. They’ve been on that journey together – growing up inside the system, seeing its fallibility and cruelty up close, and long ago learning not to trust it – though they’d come to differing conclusions at the end. What they know isn’t what these people want to hear. They want to believe that the ones in power all have their best interests at heart.

“Loyalty to the crown,” Castiel says, “isn’t the same thing as loyalty to the person wearing it.”

Anna’s eyebrow quirks. Castiel cocks his head questioningly at her, so she says, “That sounds an awful lot like something Lucifer might say.”

“It is,” Castiel agrees. “Which is why you shouldn’t trust me either.” A handful of their listeners look mildly scandalized, but Anna grins.

An elderly man raises his hand, drawing Castiel’s attention. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I regret my ignorance and complicity. I would have acted differently if I had known the purpose of my placement within the unseen agendas.”

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten to marry your sweetheart,” Daniel says.

Castiel blinks a little and wills his expression into something neutral, as though he refers to Dean as his sweetheart all the time. The man isn’t teasing, though – he is earnest, just like the others who appear to be waiting for his reply. “Yes, but that is a relatively small thing, isn’t it? I can be glad of one outcome, but angry with the rest.”

The elderly man inclines his head, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

Overall, this is going far better than Castiel could have hoped. It would’ve been impossible to have a conversation like this in the king's realm, but Castiel figures that most of the people here have emotional ties to the Republic one way or another, and so it might be cathartic for someone like Castiel to say out loud that no, their system is not perfect, and yes, it is all right to believe so.

A sudden murmur on the other side of the room makes Castiel turn. Dean is hovering in the main doorway, and he lifts a hand in a wave when their eyes meet.

“Let’s have a break,” Hannah says. “His Lordship must be tired.”

“Oh, it’s…” Castiel coughs. “Yes, thank you.”

When Castiel stands up, an elderly woman – he didn’t catch her name – presses a cup of tea into his hands and wanders off before he can insist that it isn’t necessary. So Castiel ends up having to carry the little cup and saucer over to Dean, who looks amused at the whole thing.

“So, hey,” Dean says. “Setting up your own war council there?”

“Don’t be funny.” Castiel leans in, stomach flipping when Dean immediately puckers his lips to accept the incoming hello kiss. “How’s your day so far?”

“S’okay.” Dean’s hand settles on Castiel’s waist, but his eyes flick over Castiel’s shoulder, conscious of their potential audience. “Anyway, we’re gonna open the channel to Rachel in about an hour, so if you wanna send any messages over, this would be the time.”

“Oh, yes, that’s good.” Castiel glances as his cup. “I’ll have to finish this first and take my leave properly. Shall I meet you there?”

“Oh.” Dean ducks his head and lowers his voice, “Everything okay? Some pretty dire faces round that table over there.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel says. “I was just telling them my thoughts about Michael.”

Dean starts. “Whoa now. That a good idea?”

“They’re cut off from their homeland, Dean. These aren’t people who’ve flocked straight into Michael’s arms, or Lucifer’s. They’re just trying to survive.”

Dean starts to say something, but stops and shakes his head. “Okay, it’s your call.”

“I know, you’re just worried.” Castiel drags the back of his hand loosely over Dean’s stomach. “Go ahead, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Dean glances over Castiel’s shoulder to nod at someone, and then smiles gently at Castiel. “See ya.”

Castiel watches him leave, and stays by the doorway even after Dean’s disappeared into the crowd. It’s amusing how familiar this feels – this prickling consciousness of his and Dean’s interactions being observed by outsider eyes, though their situation has changed so much.

Anna quietly draws up to Castiel’s side. “Anything important?” she asks. Castiel tells her about the open channel, but she declines his invitation to join him. “I think I’ll stay here with Hannah. She needs the extra hands, and I’m quite enjoying talking to these people. It’s rather hilarious, I have to say.”

“What is?”

“How they hang on to your every word? I knew you were a celebrity, but seeing it in action is… disconcerting. In a good way. You must be used to it by now, though.”

“No, not really,” Castiel says. “But this was different compared to before. There’s no cameras, and the script is my own. This was nicer.”

“I’m proud of you, you know. Not just for this.” Anna lowers her voice when she adds, “No one’s saying it, but I’ll bet everyone here’s thinking it. Michael can bring his hammer down hard on you for what you’ve said today.”

“Then let us hope no one here has him on speed dial.”

“And… you’re joking about it.” Anna shakes her head. “You always do that, at the first sign that someone might be at all worried about you.”

“I don’t mean it to be dismissive.” Castiel nudges his sister’s shoulder with his own. “Come on, you’ve said and done far worse than that. I’m just continuing the family tradition.”

* * *

The old watchtower is as bustling with activity in daytime as it is at night. With Dean’s help, Castiel prepares a brief message to be wired over to Rachel, which contains confirmation of Castiel’s health, his receipt of his older messages, and his making contact with Dean. The fact that it has to be relayed means that he cannot be more candid, or ask the questions that he wants to ask about _her_ safety, where she’s staying, and what’s really happening over on that side of the sea.

“Cas, it’s fine,” Dean insists. They’re watching Charlie tap out the message through the transmitter, Dean pressed close to Castiel’s side. “She’ll be stoked to just know that you’re fine.”

“I feel like it’s my doing, even if indirectly,” Castiel says. “I could always rely on her to keep me on the straight and narrow, and yet here she is, in contact with the enemy.”

“So you’d, what, tell her to play it safe?”

Castiel glances at Dean, confirming that that statement’s a joke instead of an admonishment. “I’d tell her that I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. I can read between the lines of her letters. Raphael has a firm hold on his authority, and he’s nearing paranoid with his suspicions. Lucifer must still have followers there, so Raphael is focused on rooting them out, but who knows if he’s considered that Naomi might have her own agenda in play. Rachel’s role at the front of the communications means that she would be among the first to fall if they’re exposed.”

“She’s smart, she knows that well enough,” Dean says. “And she’s decided it’s worthwhile.”

That is true as well. Castiel takes a deep breath and leans against Dean, who seems content to be leaned against. They stand like that for a while, watching as Charlie and her team move like a well-oiled machine around the station of tables and electronics and wires, processing the series of messages for coding and delivery.

Castiel clears his throat. “Balthazar said in his letters that they were looking forward to meeting you.”

“They?” Dean echoes. “Oh, you mean, the court people.”

“Just ‘court’ will do, Dean,” Castiel says with a soft laugh. “Apparently your charm works even from a distance. We may be a cynical lot, but it seems that some of them read holiness in our marriage.”

“Holy what now?”

“What was supposed to be a marriage for political purposes, against all odds turns into something personal. People here may call that a good story, but my people aren’t fans of coincidences. So the truly skeptical would suspect that it’s a ploy, while others – the majority of the regular people, as my cousin tells me – believe that it’s an act of God.”

Dean makes a choked sound. Castiel doesn’t mean to laugh, but Dean seems so scandalized, and then annoyed that Castiel finds this amusing. Castiel shakes his head in apology and, since it seems like the thing to do, turns into Dean’s arms and slips his hands into his jacket.

“This disturbs you,” Castiel says.

Dean snorts. “It was a fuck up of errors, Cas, not divine matchmaking.”

“Same coin, two sides.” Castiel sighs when Dean’s hands come up to hold him, drawing their bodies closer together. They fit so well, it is preposterous. Castiel never knew that it could be like this, that he could be made happy by small things like this. “They find it inspiring, but in a different way from how your people do.”

“No one’s supposed to find it _inspiring_ at all,” Dean grumps. He sways forward until he can press his forehead against Castiel’s and stay there. “Except us, maybe.”

“All right.” Castiel doesn’t even need to kiss Dean at this point. He is content to soak in his presence and pile up a collection of brand new memories. Castiel feels calm, so much calmer than he’s been in ages. It’s not as though all his fears and doubts no longer exist; they are there, but he feels better prepared to face them.

A loud _click_ makes Castiel start in surprise. Dean scowls sharply, and when Castiel turns to follow his gaze, he’s greeted by the sight of Charlie lowering a camera sheepishly. The rest of her team are still working the radios, but apparently she’d finished her portion a while ago.

“Really?” Dean says in exasperation.

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie says quickly. “It’s just… you were there, and, uh…”

“This isn’t like those other times, Dean,” Castiel says gently. “She’s your friend, and she saw a good moment to remember, that’s all.”

Dean sighs. “Ignore that. I’m just touchy these days.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Castiel says kindly. “I would like a copy, if you ever get that printed.”

“Oh!” Charlie beams. “Of course, no problem.”

“Actually…” Castiel is suddenly reminded of all those magazine and newspaper clippings in Anna’s cottage, and how he’d been unable to look at any of them for the longest time. Since leaving Ilchester he’d only had his memories of Dean to treasure, so perhaps this is an opportunity to rectify that. “Dean, may I have a picture of you?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “‘Cause there ain’t a shortage of that?”

“There is, actually,” Castiel says. “Since this picture would be of you as you are now, knowing that I’m yours.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. Silent wonder is a good look on Dean, and it makes the green of his eyes more vivid. Castiel calmly pats the lapels of Dean’s jacket, content to bask under the incomparable intensity that is Dean’s gaze. Castiel hadn’t known that he could enjoy this kind of scrutiny, let alone be truly and utterly satisfied by it.

“Okay,” Dean says, his voice oddly high-pitched. “Sure. Why not.”

Charlie raises her camera. “Right here?”

Her voicing the question out loud strikes Castiel with inspiration. It will be hours yet before they start preparations for the day’s broadcast, so what about the makeshift studio? Heaven knows that Castiel has spent way too much time listening to Dean’s voice and imagining the physicality that goes with it. Naturally he cannot be inside the tent while it is being used, so what about when it isn’t?

When Castiel suggests this, Dean’s grin is blinding. “Ah,” he says.

“What does ‘ah’ mean?” Castiel asks.

“Just means ‘ah’.” Dean cants his head at Charlie, who looks like she’s trying to maintain a placid expression. “C’mon, Leibovitz, we got a set-up to deal with.”

Charlie huffs. “Oh, _now_ you’re okay with being photographed in there—”

“Good cause,” Dean says cheerfully. “Best cause, actually.”

All this makes it sound like this has been suggested before, and discarded. Castiel is flattered that it isn’t discarded today, and that he’s allowed to go into the canvas tent with Dean and Charlie to see its insides for himself. Dean briefly lifts the flap to help Castiel in, and they step into a spartan makeshift room, in the center of which is a single table set with a lantern, microphone and headphones, and two chairs flanking it.

It’s dark in here, and Dean explains that normally their one lantern is enough for their regular use. For this, though, they’ll need a few more, so the three of them work together to carry a handful of lanterns and flashlights into the tent, setting them up where they’ll be the most affective. Charlie in particular has some thoughts about how this would be best done, and putters around while Castiel and Dean approach the table.

“So you sit there,” Castiel says. “It’s very cozy.”

“You can say that.” Dean settles into his chair, and it’s immediately clear how the microphone stand is perfectly positioned for him. “Charlie sits in front, and she gives me the cues. Might want to hide those loose wires there, Charlie? Nothing’s hooked up to the generator right now, so it’ll ruin the illusion, or something.”

“Props!” Charlie chirps. She has a stack of loose paper in her arms, and carefully places them on the table in front of Dean. “Look busy. Castiel, you can sit right over here.”

“Me?” Castiel says.

“Oh yeah,” Dean says. “If _I’m_ gonna do this, you gotta as well.”

“But I don’t partake of your recording sessions—”

“It’s a photo, Cas.” Dean takes his headphones off the microphone stand and sets them around his head. “I was always talking to you on the mic, anyway.”

Castiel is so startled that a mere touch of Charlie’s hand on his shoulder has him dropping onto the chair set behind his legs. “What?”

Dean frowns. “Duh?”

“No.” Castiel is vaguely aware of Charlie adjusting his position in the chair, and putting things in his hands. “No, that can’t be right.”

Now Dean just looks confused. “I’m pretty sure only one person knows what’s going on in my head, and that person ain’t you. _Of course_ I was talking to you, Cas, even before I got your letters. Who do you think I was talking about whenever I was going on and on about mistakes and unfinished business?”

“Sam?” Castiel says.

“Yeah, okay, sometimes I was talking about Sam,” Dean admits, “but it was also you. How’d you think I convinced myself to do it at all? You know I hate this kind of thing, but I had no other way of getting to you. This was it. I couldn’t tell if it was working at all, but there was a _chance_ , so I took it.”

Castiel is glad that he is sitting down. He hadn’t considered this, not once, and now the knowledge of it crowds out everything else like an anvil rattling around his skull. This keeps happening to him when it comes to Dean; Castiel views the universe a certain way, and Dean has to neatly tip that universe on its head with a few choice words.

“Yeah okay,” Dean says curtly. “You always expect the worst. I remember. So if you didn’t know, what the hell did you even write to me for?”

“Sam suggested it,” Castiel says distantly. “He was going to seek you out and he had the idea that I might want to send you a message, which I did.”

“Yeah, the message where you didn’t even bother to say how you were doing, if you were okay.” Dean says that to be rude and dismissive, except for where Castiel can hear well-masked hurt. “You really thought I didn’t care, Cas? That I wasn’t worried sick about you?”

“It’s not that I thought you didn’t care.” Castiel’s mind is full of noise, his heart is racing, he needs to fix this. “It’s the opposite of that, Dean – you care so _much_. You have the capacity to give and give, and there was so much to give _to_. Sam, your parents, your friends, your nation. You’re fighting to save people, to protect them.”

This is a poor and incoherent explanation, but as Castiel watches, it has Dean’s expression slowly shifting from disappointed to thoughtful.

“It wasn’t…” Castiel exhales slowly. “I’m not familiar with the concept of my well-being mattering to other people either way. I thought it would be enough that Sam would tell you that I’m fine, and it didn’t occur to me that you’d need anything else.”

“I thought I made it clear where I stood. When we said goodbye.”

“I’m not as smart as I think I am.” Castiel smiles weakly. “Especially not when it comes to you.”

Dean’s face is still hard, solemn, but it’s no longer difficult to meet his eyes. He nods a little, almost to himself, and then takes a deep breath. “Okay, I know what my job is now,” he says firmly. “Charlie, you wanna stop making that face like you’re wanting to crawl into a hole and die?”

Castiel had completely forgotten about Charlie. She moves back into Castiel’s field of view, saying, “I can go—”

“No, we’re here, let’s do this,” Dean says.

“Dean—” Castiel starts.

“It’s fine.” Dean properly positions headphones over his ears, and makes a gesture at Charlie. “You can start whenever.”

“If you’re sure,” Charlie says tentatively.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean adjusts the sheets of paper in front of him, although the pages are blank. He clears his throat and closes his eyes. It takes Castiel a second to understand: Dean is trying to imagine that this is a real transmission. This is what he does to get into that headspace, how he pulls that deliberate calm over himself like a cloak. When Dean opens his eyes, they are steady.

Castiel’s own anxiousness is forgotten as he watches this.

“This is me, and we’re in, and you’re listening.” Dean’s low-timbre voice is like honey, carefully modulated, exceedingly sexy. Over to Castiel’s right, Charlie is moving, and there’s a faint whirr and click of her camera.

Dean’s eyes are focused on the blank paper as he continues, “I guess it looks easy, sounds easy. Half an hour straight of me just talking, but it takes a lot to get it done. Gotta have all them points laid out nice and neat, gotta have my head screwed on tight, gotta keep all them distractions out. First few times it was a mess, but we got better at it. It’s somewhere between stand-up and storytelling – I used to tell Sammy bedtime stories, shit like that, but he’s the easiest audience in the world. Here, it has to be one smooth line. At least I’d try to keep it one smooth line, A to B, some deviations are fine, but I gotta always come back to the point. As for you, you’d be right here.”

Castiel starts. He’d been caught up in the silken cocoon of Dean’s voice that he only now sees that Dean’s looking straight at him.

“Right here,” Dean repeats, tapping two fingers to his forehead. “Joshua House, you in the long gallery, the library, the gardens. Sometimes it went on for hours, didn’t it, you just talking about your family tree, connections, rituals, history. That voice of yours, rough as gravel but smooth as butter, and I only listened because I wasn’t up for talking much those days, but you didn’t mind, right? You were trying so hard to be helpful, so you just took those professor skills of yours, answered everything I asked, always tried to find some way so I could understand, never talked down to me.”

Castiel is holding Charlie’s clipboard. She had put it in his hands some time earlier, and now he clutches it to his chest.

“So I worked with that memory,” Dean says. “Worked on the voice, ‘cause I know how it needs to be. Gotta pronounce everything clearly, properly. Not too quick, ‘cause then people won’t understand. But not too formal, ‘cause then it sounds fake. What would Cas say, I wondered? What kind of advice would Cas give me? What would Cas even be thinking if by some chance he actually is listening in to this stupid thing?”

“He would be in awe,” Castiel says tightly. “He would be humbled, grateful, full of admiration and pride. Though most of all, _thankful_.”

“Thankful for what, Cas?” Dean asks quietly.

“Thankful for…” Castiel trails off, embarrassed at Dean’s gentle pointing out of the obvious. “Thankful to hear from you again, even if only by proxy, and to know that you’re all right.”

“I get it now,” Dean says, still calm as anything. “I remember – don’t you remember when I got pissed at you, when you were upfront ‘bout what you wanted from our marriage? You laid it out and I thought it was cold as fuck at the time, but after a while, I got it. That’s your MO. You need things to be spelled out like that. I have to be clear, so you’ll always _know_.”

“I already do,” Castiel insists. “Now, I do.”

“Hmm,” Dean says neutrally. “Maybe.”

“But do _you_ know?” Castiel counters. “If I need clarity, then _you_ need action, and I’m not a demonstrative person.”

Dean smirks. “Now that’s an outright lie, Cas.”

“No, it isn’t. You know it isn’t. There’s a photo of me you keep in your room – in Benny’s room. I found it under your blankets, while I was setting things up to sleep last night.” It only belatedly occurs to Castiel that this might not be a good thing to raise, but Dean perks up, intrigued instead of embarrassed. “You know well what I come off as. Cold, distant, proud. It was right there, in that picture.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not what I see at all,” Dean drawls. “Sure, other people may not see past those perfectly chiseled cheekbones of yours, but I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be keeping your mugshot.”

“That’s still not right,” Castiel insists. “I must meet you in the middle. I must learn your language, as you have learned mine. You will teach me.”

“Whoa there, home listener, is that a request?”

“Very much so,” Castiel says. “Give me the chance, and I will be good to you. I will treat you right.”

“No, no, wait,” Dean says, laughing. “Dude, the one who’s supposed to be laying it all out is _me_. I’m gonna blow your dang socks off by how awesome I’m gonna be treating you.”

“I will be pleasing to you in many and varied ways,” Castiel says.

“I’m gonna get so in there that you’re never gonna second guess me ever again, hah! And you’ll know that every power ballad I end up belting in karaoke is gonna be your fault. You will _know._ ” Dean is grinning. “Hey, Charlie, you got some decent shots there?”

“Why settle for decent when I can do spectacular?” Charlie says cheerfully. “Shall I step out now?”

“Good idea.” Dean’s removing his headphones and standing up as Charlie exits the tent with a faint rustle. Castiel stands up as well and sets the clipboard on the table, but that’s only so that he can reach for Dean just as Dean reaches for him, their lips meeting with frenzy and fervor.

This is absurd. This is _absurd_. They are kissing frantically as though they weren’t arguing just five minutes ago, though as far as their disagreements go that was definitely a minor one, practically a non-event really, since there was no stomping off or locked doors involved.

This is still absurd, though. Dean’s hands are all over Castiel’s body and Castiel has Dean pressed up against the table as though this is a perfectly reasonable place for them to be making out in prelude to sex. Because Castiel does want sex, he wants to learn Dean again and share that intimacy with Dean _seeing_ him properly while they go at it. There is heat in these kisses but Castiel wants to stoke it to full fire, chase it to its full potential, turn Dean utterly delirious with everything Castiel can offer.

It is Castiel’s duty to pull back. He does, staunchly ignoring the whine of distress Dean makes. That said, he doesn’t get very far when Dean’s hands clamp tight around his arms.

“Oh no,” Dean hisses, mouthing wetly across Castiel’s jaw, “you’re not falling asleep on me again.”

“What?” Castiel says. “When did I… Last night? Were you trying to initiate sex last night?”

Now Dean’s dragging his teeth along Castiel’s pulse point. “Maybe.”

“I was _tired_.” Castiel gasps at the press of Dean’s thigh against his crotch. “You took so long to come back, that’s hardly my fault.”

“Hey, I’m not blaming anyone. I’m just saying, I want you pretty bad. It’s more fun when you’re taking an active part.”

“As opposed to a passive part?”

Dean freezes. When he leans back to meet Castiel’s eyes, he is frowning. “I wasn’t creeping on you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Castiel attempts what he hopes is a coy expression. “So you didn’t take care of yourself while I was asleep?”

Dean coughs. “I did, but not in a… I wasn’t touching you or anything like that.”

Castiel considers this. “I think… it would be fine if you touch me, should such a situation arise again. Though I ask that you keep your touches above my waist.” Castiel takes Dean’s hands and draws them up to rest on Castiel’s shoulders. “Here, perhaps. Or down my arms and back.”

“Waaaait a minute.” Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s shoulders, drawing him closer. “What’re you saying?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Castiel says. “It is creepy if you don’t have permission. I am giving you permission.”

“You mean, like…” Dean trails his fingers across Castiel’s neck, the touch sending shudders through Castiel’s body. “I can, say, put my face right here and breathe you in while I... take care of myself?”

“Yes, you may do that,” Castiel says. “Just don’t wake me up.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “ _Don’t_ wake you up.”

“Obviously if I fall asleep on you, my priority is getting a good rest, and you shouldn’t take that personally. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want you to have your own pleasure. I am flattered that you’d think of me while doing so.”

Dean presses his lips together in a hard line. Words apparently beyond him for the moment, he stares at Castiel with tiny little shakes of head.

“ _Clarity_ , Dean,” Castiel reminds him.

Dean sighs. “You ever have one of those moments where you see rapid flashes of what the rest of your life’s gonna be like? I’m having one of those right now.”

“We still can’t have sex here, though.”

“And you just sent all those dreams crashing right down.”

“Not all of them.” Castiel smiles. He can’t do flirtatious the way that Dean does, but he tries, and his valiant effort is enough to have Dean bursting with laughter. Castiel does not need confirmation that it is one of the best sounds in the word, but he has it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s tempting to run off with Dean to the first private nook they can find, but practicality remains an issue. Oh, Dean can whine, and paw at Castiel’s hips, and claim that this is all Castiel’s fault, but it doesn’t change the reality that they’re in a very busy house surrounded by very busy people. Plus, Dean is himself one of those very busy people.

They exit the tent together, Dean close by Castiel’s side and with his hand resting on Castiel’s lower back. Dean’s voice is light when he calls out to Charlie, “Hey, you get on those when you can!”

Across the room, Charlie cheerfully raises a hand in an O for the okay.

Castiel presses his shoulder against Dean’s. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Nah, it’s a win-win.” Dean’s still casting his gaze around the room, though, as if in search for an exit. Or an excuse for an exit.

Castiel clears his throat. “We agreed on later, Dean.”

Dean sighs. “Can you blame a guy for hoping?”

Whatever annoyance Dean may have, it’s soon put aside when news arrives from Stanford. The wires are open and news is pouring in, as evidenced by the abrupt swell of activity in the tower. Bobby, who has been reading something, puts his papers down and approaches the hub of the noise, barking questions as he goes.

Dean is drawn in as well, though he brings Castiel with him, clipping off quick introductions for the rest of the unfamiliar people: Tara is a fellow Hunter passing through, Elkins is a local who is minding the estate with Bobby, and Maggie, Harry, and Ed are the ones who are physically minding the radios and yelling codes at each other.

“It takes a village,” Charlie says.

Dean claps his hands. “So, what’ve we got?”

Castiel manages to catch a few things from the conversation that follows. The stalemate at Stanford has apparently been broken, though there’s no confirmation on who moved first. Michael has been identified as having landed at Stanford personally, which implies that he has intelligence that Lucifer is there as well. Other than that are terms foreign to Castiel, talking about boxes, tigers, moving lines and shields, though there are names in there as well that pique Castiel’s interest.

Castiel turns to Bobby. “Explain this to me.”

“There’s a whole lotta ruckus on the ground,” Bobby says. “If it’s accurate, it’s ‘cause there’ve been desertions.”

“People are deserting Michael?” Castiel asks.

“Naw,” Tara cuts in. She’s sifting through the pages of writing that Charlie’s team has handed over to her. “People are deserting Lucifer. A couple of big badges showed up at the main hall – the civilian hold-out in town, I mean. There’s Walker, Creaser, at least one Campbell. They’re trying to make contact with Ellen.”

“Campbell?” Castiel echoes in surprise. “Does this mean there’s been infighting?”

“Makes sense to me,” Tara says.

Bobby makes a skeptical noise. “Could be a ploy.”

“That, too,” Tara agrees.

Castiel takes some time to process this, and remains quiet while the others poke at the map on the table. A decision has to be made, and Dean and Tara are of the opinion that they have to make contact with the communes that are closer to the front lines. Bobby, on the other hand, would prefer to wait for Ellen’s instructions.

“Are Walker and Creaser important Houses?” Castiel asks.

Charlie nods. “Martin Creaser was the last Speaker we had, so he’s a pretty big fish. If Elle – Lucifer – loses him it’s a big blow to his power base. Walker’s less crucial but he’s a trendsetter with deep pockets.”

Castiel frowns. “Trendsetter?”

“Oh, sorry,” Charlie says, “I mean, lots of people look up to him.”

“Ah.” Castiel nods. “So if he quits Lucifer, others may follow.”

Bobby grumbles, “Why can’t Michael get ‘em quitting as well? That’s what I’d like.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “I don’t understand that at all. How are your people even supporting Michael at all?”

Tara gives Castiel a questioning look. “This Lucifer’s a bogeyman, ain’t he? There’s plenty thinking that Lucifer is Michael’s mess to clean up.”

“Yes, but Michael wants to _subdue_ you,” Castiel presses. “He wants to take everyone and everything back into his realm and… Dean, didn’t you tell them this?”

Dean’s head jerks up from where he’d been reading something off Charlie’s notepad. “What?”

“Didn’t you tell them about Michael?” Castiel says. “About how he was never interested in honoring the agreement? His entire purpose has been to annex as much of your nation back into the Kingdom, that’s all.”

Dean’s smile is bitter. “There’s only my word for that, ain’t it.”

“No, but…” Castiel reels. “Naomi, Rachel, they should know this.”

“Naomi ‘knows’,” Dean says, finger quote-marks and all, “but she says she was never inside that inner circle of planning. She may have gotten the agreement up and running, but Michael shoved her back to the Isles once he’d got what he’d wanted. Even now, Michael and his posse are sticking to the company line that they’re only here to get Lucifer.”

“That’s.” Castiel searches for the appropriate word. “Ludicrous.”

“Hey.” Dean shrugs.

“It’s _inane_ ,” Castiel says. “Does this mean that all this time, all these weeks – months – of this occupation, everyone is still pretending that Michael isn’t here to conquer you?”

Bobby snorts. “The only one saying that outright is Lucifer.”

“But there’s _Dean_.” Castiel gestures at him. “I told you everything Michael told me.”

“That makes it a second-hand story, dude,” Dean says. “I’m already on official outs with the Council, they’re not exactly gonna listen to me.”

“But you have your radio show,” Castiel says. “Oh, I didn’t notice. You’ve never declared it such on-air. Why haven’t you? If you say, ‘it’s complicated’, I am going to use a number of unhappy words on you.”

Dean’s mouth quirks. “You know I’m getting this déjà vu feeling, except the last time it was the other way round and I was—”

“Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean sighs. Behind him, the radio crew are still at work, relaying letters and numbers in an almost lulling background noise of efficiency. At long last, Dean says, “Everyone knows it. Okay, maybe not _everyone_ , but it’s clear that Michael’s running on way too many thrusters for someone who says he only wants to help. But Michael hasn’t actually _said_ it.”

“Why can’t Ellen say it?” Castiel demands.

Bobby says, “Hard to, when there’s still some Council members on Michael’s side.”

Castiel can feel his face contort, his frown deepening into something close to a tantrum. If he were standing a little further out from the situation, he would be able to parse this with less frustration. Michael is, after all, a foreign figure of power, and despite all their history, relations between their two nations has been good and improving over the past few decades. Castiel imagines that these people, who have never lived under Michael’s rule, are loathe to point out what should be heartily obvious. It would be _impolite._

Castiel can understand this, yet that doesn’t make it any less ridiculous. These people are supposed to be free to be rude all they want.

“There’s me,” Castiel says. “You have my testimony.”

“Sure,” Dean says, “but it’s not like we can get an appointment with the Supreme Court.”

Castiel makes a face at him. “I’m referring to your radio show. I can speak on it.”

“Whoa there,” Dean says, alarmed. “No, we don’t need that. What would be the point? It isn’t even a national channel.”

“It may finally allow people to talk about it openly,” Castiel says. “If enough people talk, there will be pressure to bear.”

Dean blinks rapidly. “I think you’re _way_ overestimating things, Cas.”

“Nah,” Bobby says, “I think that might do some good.”

Dean swivels his head around accusingly. “ _Really_ , Bobby?”

Bobby shrugs. “Would be more useful than some of the other things you’re always yammering about.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, just as Castiel says, “That’s not nice.”

Tara clears her throat. “To be frank, the last thing we need is more eyes on us. Ellen’s been keeping the others off our back, but if your husband goes high-profile like that it might be more damaging than useful in the long run.”

Castiel is irritated by how decent a point that is.

“Ellen!” Dean exclaims. “You should totally talk to Ellen.”

“Ellen Harvelle?” Castiel echoes.

Bobby scoffs. “’Cause what she needs right now is more things to deal with.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean says, exasperated. “Ellen’s not telling us shit. She’s got her job to do, which is fair, but we don’t know what the fuck she’s _actually_ up to besides her chummying it up with Naomi.”

This is apparently a point of contention, because Dean, Bobby and Tara start sniping at each other about Ellen’s perceived responsibility and effectiveness as the Republic’s Speaker. The only thing the three of them can agree on is that Ellen must be working on a plan to resolve the situation, but these people have a highly varied level of faith in her abilities and resources to pull it off.

Charlie has to wave her arms to get their attention. “Hey, guys! Just got confirmation on Walker and Creaser. Your cousin’s there, too, Dean. Christian.”

Dean nods solemnly. “Okay. Mom and Dad will be listening in as well. They’ll want to make contact.”

With other matters taking precedence, Castiel puts aside his desire to speak up. He reminds himself that while he’s well familiar with Michael’s ways, he knows very little about the local factions and how they do things here. Naomi can be counted on to figure out an effective plan, so her alliance with Ellen must have some usefulness that they cannot see just yet.

According to Dean, Ellen and Naomi have hope of salvaging the agreement. Castiel supposes that that’s a noble goal for the long run, but surely, _surely_ , the current priority is in stopping Michael and Lucifer from hurting anyone else?

It’s going to be a busy day, that much is for sure. The news isn’t going to slow down for a while, not with the situation on the ground being so changeable. Charlie, Bobby and Tara are now discussing the best way to intercept the defectors, and what this is likely to mean for Lucifer’s next move.

Castiel draws up to Dean’s side and touches his arm. “Do you need to go to the front?”

“Not sure yet,” Dean says. “Thing is, if there’s Campbells involved, Mom will want to be there to talk to them. I’d rather it be me than her, but…”

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned a Christian to me before,” Castiel says.

Dean makes face. “I wanna say that he’s less of a dick than Grandpa Samuel, but that doesn’t mean much these days. I know he gets on okay with Sam, so…” He trails off, and grimaces when a thought occurs. “Ah, shit, Sam’s going to want to see him.”

“Because he feels responsible?”

Dean looks at Castiel curiously. “He told you that?”

“Did he not tell _you_?”

“Heck, no,” Dean scoffs. “I mean, I _know_ he feels like this is all on him, but he didn’t go anywhere near saying that to my face. Kid probably didn’t want me to worry about him.”

“Or,” Castiel suggests, “he didn’t want you to waste your breath trying to convince him that it _isn’t_ his fault, for he’s made up his mind that it is.”

“Oh, so you spend a couple of days with Sammy and you’re an expert?”

“He’s my brother-in-law,” Castiel says. “So you need to work on reciprocative bonding with my sister. Hint hint.”

Dean smirks. “Did you just say ‘hint hint’?”

“Yes.” Castiel makes a face at Dean’s inappropriately fond smile. “You were telling me about your cousin, Christian.”

“What else can I say about Chris?” Dean says. “He and the others followed Grandpa head-first into teaming up with Lucifer. If he’s breaking ranks then he’s got to be pushing for a good deal with whoever he’s trying to switch over to. Ellen will want to get him on her side, of course, but it’ll really depend on whoever she’s got minding the line out there. Last I heard it was – Frank, was it?”

Charlie hums an affirmative. “Yep, still Frank as far as we know.”

Castiel asks, “If we know this, Michael should know it as well, wouldn’t he? He would use Lucifer’s depleted numbers to press his advantage.”

“I think he’d wait,” Dean says. “His campaign hasn’t been going as smoothly as he expected, so he might want to give it a day or so to see how it shakes out.”

It would come at a cost, but Castiel rather wishes that Michael _would_ press his advantage. Maybe then they’d reach an actual conclusion, for then the locals will be able to sort out their mess without having to scramble for the favor of either princely brother. If Michael doesn’t act quickly, then Lucifer can gather his few closest followers and flee, moving to yet another location to gather his strength and drag this out further.

It’s for the best that Castiel isn’t actually in charge, if he’s thinking such things.

That said, while Castiel isn’t able to be any more useful that he was a few days ago, now he feels… connected. It is a good feeling. It’s true that he’s only on the periphery of important matters, but it’s enough to be able to stand here and watch Dean and his companions discuss the next batch of incoming news.

Castiel _would_ like to speak to Ellen, though. Perhaps once this rush hour has passed, he may look up the means of accomplishing that.

* * *

 

The next few hours are filled with activity and chatter. Other people pass through the tower during this time as well. Kevin arrives panting, disheveled and demanding to know what’s happening. Benny makes his presence known with food and drink, and is politely amused when Castiel apologizes for having kicked him out of his room. Anna drops by in search of further information, for has been left unsatisfied by the mainstream channel being played on the refugee center radio.

Castiel is kept busy as well. When he isn’t listening in on the discussions taking place, he’s helping carry things around, or answering questions about Michael.

He also finds himself drawn into a heated conversation with Kevin, who only seemingly just now realized the extent of Castiel’s background.

“It’s not like Lucifer’s the first to try something on this scale,” Kevin says. “There was that Baron guy, years ago, back when I was a kid. Crowley what’s-his-name? He captured some of the creature Alphas to force them to serve him, but that just can’t work in the long run.”

“That strategy sounds like something Michael would be into, not Lucifer,” Castiel says. “Lucifer, they say, is more subtle than that.”

“What can he possibly offer them?” Kevin asks.

“I can hardly guess myself,” Castiel admits. “But we know that he used the loyalty binding on his inner circle, so it’s reasonable conjecture that the creatures in his thrall are linked to him as well. Magic could be a means of doing that, without resorting to the blackmail of clan loyalty.”

“But wouldn’t that come at a huge cost?” Kevin says. “You can use silver and fire to restrict their movement, but keeping them _in line_ is not the same thing at all.”

“Lucifer’s highly intelligent, and he’s been in exile for decades. He could have used that time developing his skills.” Castiel shrugs. “What is the common belief around these parts?”

Tara, who is nearby and has been partially listening in, offers, “They’re saying that he’s using his followers to feed the creatures.”

Castiel makes a face. “That’s not sustainable, either.”

Tara chuckles. “No, I meant that Lucifer’s followers are capturing _other_ people to feed the creatures.”

“Oh. Oh, that would be terrible.”

“That, it would,” Tara agrees, while Kevin makes a weak laughing sound.

“But it would make him a priest, wouldn’t it?” Castiel says. “If he has formed a cult around himself, then that would make him the priest who offers sacrifice to the creatures of the wilderness. It harkens back to the ancient days, before the time of the Hunters.”

Kevin looks like he’s going to hurl, but he nods. “Would make good PR, if you had a certain point of view. Would that give the creatures in his service extra abilities, do you think?”

Thusly Castiel and Kevin – with Tara, Bobby and Anna occasionally chiming in – fall into a conversation about the magical logistics that might be required to pull such a thing off. Kevin isn’t a Man of Letters but he might as well be for all of his sharpness in comprehending and countering Castiel’s theories about the bindings Lucifer might have to use and the advantages his party may have from such things. From this they can theorize the kind of weaponry – whether wielded by hand or mouth – necessary to counter such measures.

So engrossed is Castiel in this, he only notices the lateness of the hour when Bobby’s voice rings out with, “Top of the hour, people! Let’s simmer down!”

“What?” Castiel looks around. “Is it time for today’s broadcast already?”

Sure enough, Dean and Charlie are standing together near the makeshift studio, poring over the night’s notes. Dean seems to sense Castiel’s watching him and looks up, his eyes crinkling when he smiles.

Castiel waves at him a little, just because. Dean smirks back and straightens up a little, almost proudly, as though lifted by the simplicity of Castiel’s presence and support. Castiel understands the sentiment, as well.

“Hey,” Kevin says, grabbing Castiel’s arm lightly. “Don’t go yet, okay. I want to go over those sigils you were talking about. If it break the hold over Lucifer’s protection wards, then it could be a massive in.”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel says.

Charlie, who has partway entered the studio tent, points an accusing finger at them. “Shh!”

“I’m sshh-ing!” Kevin hisses back. He waits until Dean and Charlie have disappeared behind the flap before turning back to Castiel. “I mean it, sir.”

“I heard you, Mister Tran,” Castiel kindly.

 

* * *

 

 

The content of the night’s broadcast is more tense than usual. This is understandable.

It would also be understandable if Castiel feels some regret at what comes next, but he doesn’t. When the broadcast is wrapped up, Dean tells him that he’s thinking of returning to the front, to which Castiel replies, yes, that makes sense.

After all, Castiel’s already guessed that Dean’s direct involvement is necessary. Dean’s spent too much time away as it is, and if it’s true that Dean did it mostly for Castiel’s sake, then… well. Castiel may be thrilled to rank so highly in Dean’s priorities, but that thrill comes attached with guilt at taking Dean away from important matters.

Besides, Castiel’s had two excellent days after a long string of decent days (which in themselves followed some less-decent days), and two days is more than he’d hoped for when he’d set out from Rexford in Anna’s car. Sometimes Castiel _can_ be very greedy, but not today.

“I want you to keep in touch,” Dean says firmly. “I mean it.”

Castiel nods. “Of course.”

“Don’t you ‘of course’ me,” Dean says. “How are you going to keep in touch?”

“There’s the radio tower,” Castiel says reasonably.

“Good. What else?”

Castiel thinks. “I will have Anna speak to Bobby on how to maintain contact with your circle independently, if necessary.”

Dean draws his mouth into a thin, mocking line. He’s just teasing, of course, but just because he’s teasing doesn’t mean that there isn’t true worry there. Anything can happen while they’re apart, though they’re both at the stage where they’re not going to dwell on the might-happens when they’ve passed through dozens of _already_ -happeneds and come out on the other side.

A few more kisses – taken while Castiel helped Dean pack his things – will have to tide them over for now. The estate’s main courtyard is abuzz with activity, but Dean and Castiel are stubbornly taking a moment for themselves here, Dean holding Castiel in his arms and Castiel fidgeting with the buttons of Dean’s jacket. There are others joining Dean in chasing the action, and Castiel must trust that they will take care of each other effectively.

“Am I missing something else?” Castiel asks. “I will still listen to your channel every night, of course.”

“Cas, you gotta promise to stay _safe_.”

“I thought that was a given.”

“No, I mean…” Dean sighs. “It’d really take a load off my mind to hear you say you’re gonna stay here and not do anything… you know. Risky.”

Castiel starts to laugh, but stops when Dean’s expression makes it clear that he’s perfectly serious. “What could I do? Are you concerned I’d follow you?”

“You won’t, right?”

“That would serve no purpose,” Castiel says reasonably. When Dean’s eyes dart away guiltily, Castiel continues, “Would you consider it a sign of affection if I did such a thing?”

“No! _No_.” Dean tightens his hold around Castiel, drawing him in so that their knees bump slightly. “That was not reverse psychology, I swear.”

“It’s something _you_ would do, though,” Castiel says thoughtfully.

“But you’re not me.” Dean grins. “That’s why I’m crazy ‘bout you.”

Castiel’s quite sure that _this_ part isn’t teasing. He understands a little better now the kinds of things Dean considers romantic – such as if Castiel defied expectation for the sake of staying by Dean’s side – but he thinks Dean understands _him_ a little better now, too. Castiel can bear the missing him. That takes strength, as well.

“You will do your best to come back to me,” Castiel says. “Your very best.”

“’Course,” Dean says.

Castiel lifts his hands to Dean’s face, his fingertips brushing the coarse lines of his stubble. He wants to take in every detail of Dean’s face, and enjoy the fact that Dean is doing the same. Castiel feels like a broken record at this point, though – what else can he say, beyond what he’s said already? Dean is precious to him.

“It weighs on you, what I did with…” Castiel looks down, and drops one hand to gently rest it on Dean’s tattooed arm. “That was _my_ choice, Dean.”

“I know it wasn’t just for me,” Dean says. “But you’re in limbo now ‘cause of what went down.”

“It’s not so bad.” Castiel smiles at him coyly. “Not anymore.”

Dean kisses him for that. Castiel tightens his grip on Dean’s arm and kisses back, softly and then fervently. He realizes that he is now an object for Dean to hope for and strive for in returning to. Castiel has limited experience in such things, but he will rise to the challenge gladly.

When their lips move apart, it’s only so that they can breathe. Dean stays close to Castiel, his breath warm on Castiel’s skin, his eyelashes brushing lightly over Castiel’s forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Dean says.

“Take your time,” Castiel replies.

Dean makes an annoyed sound. “Really, Cas?”

“Don’t take your time, then.” Castiel takes opportunity of their closeness to slip his hands firmly around Dean’s torso, and tuck his face against Dean’s neck. A hug – he realizes belatedly. This is definitely a hug.

Dean approves, though. “I like touchy-feely you,” he murmurs.

“I think I may have always been,” Castiel says, vaguely aware that he’s being more candid than he usually is, and not minding. “It’s merely the opportunity that’s eluded me.”

Dean’s arms, already warm around Castiel’s body, tighten their grip in affirmation.

When they finally unwind their limbs around each other, it’s done with reluctance. Castiel lets his hands linger on Dean’s arms, the touch reminding him of the semi-broken tattoo underneath the sleeves.

“It’s a pity we haven’t had the chance to upgrade these,” Dean says wistfully. “Might be nice to have something more to go on that just… you know, that you’re _there_.”

“Later, then,” Castiel says. “Advanced tattoos are very cost-intensive.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know?” Castiel is startled into a smile at the realization of what this means. “You’ve been investigating binding modifications.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says unabashedly. “One day we might even get far enough that you can make the tats _move_ , like, on purpose, so we could send messages to each other. Doesn’t that fucking blow your mind? Yeah, I know, I’m stalling. You take care, okay?”

“You, too.”

Castiel lets Dean slip out from his arms and join his companions, but he still feels no regret at having to do that. Instead he has acceptance and patience.

Castiel’s also vaguely aware of the other people in the courtyard, of Bobby and Charlie and other personnel talking in clipped tones and banked energy, but Castiel’s eyes follow Dean as he is drawn back into business and gradually swallowed by the moving swarm of hunters.

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t feel right to stay in Benny’s room without Dean around, so after a long night debating binding lore with Kevin in the estate library (during which they were joined by a handful of interested locals), Castiel gathers up his things with the full intention of sleeping in the refugee center. But _that_ turns out to be a controversial decision, because some the inhabitants of the center are appalled and offended that a prince (Castiel’s given up trying to explain that he isn’t one anymore) doesn’t have his own private quarters on the estate.

Anna comes to Castiel’s rescue, jumping in with a smooth explanation that she’ll handle this, don’t worry, Bobby Singer will be notified of this oversight immediately.

She quickly escorts Castiel out of the refugee center, and Castiel waits until they’re out of earshot before he says, “I don’t want Bobby to—”

“I know,” Anna says. “I didn’t want to say this earlier, but some of them back there are really unhappy with the way you’re being treated.”

Castiel frowns. “That’s not Dean’s fault.”

“No, I mean, not – okay, yes, that’s part of it, but not the whole thing.” Anna’s still walking, her hand on Castiel’s arm as she guides him along. Castiel isn’t clear on the route she’s taking through the dimly-lit courtyards of the estate, but she seems pretty focused on a particular direction. “It’s about protocol due a prince.”

“But I’m not a prince. I’m exiled.”

“That’s a legal concept.”

“As opposed to?”

“A concept of the heart.” Anna clucks her tongue when Castiel laughs at the notion, and continues, “I know you like to say that the continental people are too romantic in their manner of thinking, but islanders are romantic in their own way as well. You know how it is, Castiel – people put too much weight on the ‘natural order’ of things. A King to lead, the nobles to rule, the people to follow. A prince has a place in that order, and some people have… _feelings_ about how that order is to be kept.”

“This isn’t new information,” Castiel admits, “but I have to say it’s very strange to be at the receiving end of it now, after Michael, after… everything. Please tell me they don’t blame Dean for my current condition.”

Anna laughs softly. “On the contrary. Some of them are quite pleased that Dean is giving you your rightful dues.”

“But that’s not—he doesn’t treat me well because of my _status_.”

“That’s for us to know and for them to misread,” Anna says knowingly. “Anyway, half of ‘em are convinced that he’s the only one protecting your position here. With him gone, that’s why you ended up having to sleep in the center.”

“That’s terrible,” Castiel says earnestly. “They can’t think that poorly of the locals here. Or of Bobby Singer.”

“I’ll smooth it over. In the meantime, in order to preserve the peace, you’ll sleep in my car.”

“Ah.” That explains why Anna has led him out into the cramped parking lot. “That’s a good idea, thank you.”

Anna then makes it her mission to pack Castiel in a nest of her spare blankets in the backseat of her car. Castiel lets her do it happily, because it is cold and he doesn’t have Dean to snuggle up to, so he will accept any poor substitutes without guilt nor apology.

“Are you content?” Castiel asks suddenly, once Anna has made sure that he’s wearing thick enough socks. “With your life, in general?”

Anna is surprised by the question, but then ducks her head, almost shyly. “That’s a strange thing to ask now.”

“But are you?”

Anyone else might misunderstand Castiel’s question, or request clarification, but in the days they’ve spent together here, Castiel’s found that there are a number of things that haven’t changed between them. Anna’s ability to understand him – to find the kindest reading of his accidental inappropriateness – is one of them.

“Sometimes more than I can bear,” Anna admits.

“You have to bear _contentment_?”

“Yes,” Anna says.

“Ah.” Castiel nods, relieved to find another thing in common. “We don’t do well with accepting happiness.”

“I think it’s a matter of practice,” Anna says, eyes crinkling with the gentle tease. “We can learn new habits to replace the old.”

Castiel gives this quiet piece of advice its due consideration. “Yes, I think I can see better now how that’s possible.”

Anna kisses him on the forehead before leaving him to the privacy of the car. She still has to stay at the refugee center, where she has commitments with her new contacts, but that’s fine by Castiel. Quite a few of the other vehicles in the field have inhabitants of their own, and this way Castiel can curl up in the seat and take his time falling asleep, in between recounting his new memories of Dean and composing prayers for Dean and his friends’ safety.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Castiel finally sends a message to Ellen. The radio tower is emptier without Dean, the makeshift studio and half the radios gone, but the half that remains are definitely functional.

It’s hard to read Bobby Singer, who seems perpetually disgruntled, but Castiel thinks he might be pleased by Castiel’s vehemence that a message be sent. Castiel wishes to be brief but clear about his stance – goodness knows too many things are left vague these days – and is open to Bobby, Kevin and Anna’s comments about how such a message would be worded.

The final composition is polite and to-the-point. It describes Castiel’s honest confusion that Michael’s duplicity isn’t open knowledge, and that he will be happy to assist if Ellen is merely holding back due to whatever concerns are plaguing her at the moment. Castiel is no expert on the transmission process itself, but Anna understands the technology of encryption and relay, so Castiel need only sit back and be content that he has said his piece.

“Madame Ellen Harvelle,” Anna says. “Would you say she has a firm handle on the situation?”

“Hell if I know,” Bobby says. “She’s a fighter, but I don’t know if that’s saying much these days.”

Anna rubs her chin, worried. “The things I’ve heard – the things you’ve described – it seems to me that she lost control of the Council months ago and is hanging on by her fingertips.”

Kevin clears his throat. “The Speaker doesn’t _control_ the Council. They’re just the hub around which the Council orbits.”

“’Just’”,” Castiel echoes in amusement. “And why aren’t you with her assisting in her being orbited?”

“Someone’s got to share Ellen’s super secret communication keys with the big hunter hubs,” Kevin says wryly. “And keep the keys up to date with the keys that come through the… I think you get the idea.”

“Fascinating,” Anna says. “So you go around the main points and you give them the latest keys to encode and decode. Like Rachel’s latest message?”

The mention of Rachel’s message has Castiel’s exasperation flooding back. Oh, he’s glad to have received a response at all, but Rachel – and by proxy Naomi – continue to err on the side of caution and didn’t share anything that could reasonably put Castiel’s mind at ease. What are they doing? What precautions are they taking? Rachel’s missive was so brief, she didn’t even berate Castiel for disappearing for all these weeks. Castiel misses that.

“And still nothing from Stanford,” Castiel says.

“Not in the last ten minutes since you asked, no,” Kevin says, though he at least seems amused by this. “C’mon, even if we _do_ get anything it’s gonna be totally sketchy. He can only have just arrived in… what, the past two hours? Then there’s checking in, getting caught up—”

“I understand the logistics of it,” Castiel says. “I’m just… anxious.”

Anna leans towards him, a hand cupping around Castiel’s head as she kisses his temple in comfort. “I’m quite sure you’ll be the first to know if there’s any crucial updates.”

“Would I be?” Castiel asks.

“Sure.” Kevin glances at Bobby, who makes a harrumph sound and bobs his head in what Castiel reads as a grudging confirmation. “Spousal rights… and all that.”

“That’s not what spousal rights are, kid,” Bobby says.

“I know _that_ , oh my god,” Kevin says. “No disrespect meant, Cas.”

Castiel gives Kevin a kind look. “I’m sure Dean has put you through far worse.”

Bobby snorts, Kevin laughs helplessly, and a few other people who are nearby, and close enough to be listening in to this non-private conversation, making various knowing expressions. Anna, on the other hand, seems mildly perturbed at the turn that this joking has taken, but her concern stems from her worrying about Castiel.

She doesn’t need to. Not for this.

See, one of the side effects of Dean’s absence is that Castiel’s attention is freed up, and he notices better the way people here notice and react to him. This is nothing like the star-struck behavior at Ilchester, or open staring of the days around the wedding. There are still glances of recognition – some curious, some confused – but they are brief and utterly devoid of hostility. Some people even nod politely at him, though Castiel has no idea who they are beyond what he can deduce from their clothing.

Castiel isn’t comfortably invisible the way he was in Rexford, but this is a decent alternative. He wonders if this is because he’s part of the background hustle and bustle of estate, where most people have other pressing things to deal with, or if it’s because of his link to Dean, who is one of them. Dean is known and respected, that much is obvious, and somewhere during the weeks between the last time Castiel came up close and personal with his companions, Dean has gone and reworked – no, _overhauled_ – Castiel’s image.

Castiel has seen Dean wear his emotions on his sleeve these past few days. That kind of thing does not happen overnight, or spontaneously. Dean speaks so passionately of his family and Castiel thinks (hopes, _wants_ ) for Dean to have spoken of him that way to his friends.

And now that Castiel is physically here, these people can see him for himself. They can see his relationship with _Dean_ for themselves, and goodness knows they haven’t been candid about it. Castiel flushes at the memory of their making out all over the estate, but it’s not like they could’ve helped it. Separated spouses can be very affectionate when brought back together. It’s been happening on a regular basis, too, what with the ongoing situation.

So people can see… things. Castiel is far from an exhibitionist, but he’s all right with this, because there is nothing shameful about his feelings for Dean. In fact, there is pride to be had in showing the world how much Dean is loved.

Let them see. They should all see, because this time, it’s all true.

There is strength in that. Feelings may not be tangible, but they’re still more solid than the ephemeral and uncertain chunks of Castiel’s past. _This_ is like iron and silver.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel carries these convictions with him for the rest of the day, through receiving brief news from Stanford that there’s been no significant progress (nor a personal message from Dean, who is understandably busy), to his return to the refugee center afterward with Anna. It isn’t only the locals who are reacting to Castiel differently; his own kin are doing the same as well.

There seems to be more people in the center today. Hannah explains that this is normal, for the numbers swell and recede with the movements over the country. Yet Castiel thinks that this is in some part due to his presence here, that word might have spread through the town and brought new faces in. It explains the flurry of polite but pressing questions from various people wanting to confirm that Castiel is here, that he’s fine, that it isn’t a hoax.

Castiel merely came to get a drink and perhaps chat with a few people that Anna’s befriended, but gentle maneuvering by sundry curious people has resulted in Castiel being given a place of honor in the room, i.e. the most comfortable chair, with Anna and Hannah sitting on either side of him. There are only a few other chairs in here but that hasn’t stopped people from clustering around him, respectfully and minding his personal space as they listen to him speak.

“You’re free to believe that I’m not who I say I am,” Castiel tells the boy who’s voiced this question tentatively. “It makes no difference in the greater scheme of things, as I stopped being relevant the moment I stepped off Michael’s ship.”

“I don’t mean that in any disrespect,” the boy says. “It’s just… you’re taller than I expected?”

“Ah, yes, there is some minor height difference between myself and Dean,” Castiel says. “It can skew the perspective in photographs.”

“Is he here?” the woman asks. “Could we… meet him?” There’s a general murmur of agreement through the group clustered around Castiel.

This is a new request. Even Hannah is visibly startled by it, and Castiel guesses that although Dean is a celebrity in his own right, his northern kin weren’t interested in him before. Castiel is the link between them and Dean, and perhaps, Castiel realizes with a start, a link between them and the locals.

“He’s not here at the moment,” Castiel says. “Maybe later, when he returns.”

For the most part this information is accepted mildly, but Castiel catches one or two faces scrunching up unhappily. Castiel meets the eyes of one such face, cocking his head in curious question.

The young woman ducks his head at first, embarrassed at having been singled out, but when her friend nudges her in the side, she says, “It’s just strange to hear that, is all, sir. What with your only finding each other again recently.”

“There are times to be selfish,” Castiel says, “and there are times not to be. I would go with my husband if I could, but that would be reckless.”

“How so, sir?” asks Daniel, who’s only gotten bolder and more curious since his questioning yesterday.

“I’m… not exactly welcome in many places,” Castiel says, exchanging a quick look with Anna. “My status is unclear, and I’d rather leave it that way, in case the clarification I get is not the clarification I want.”

“You mean, you wish to stay with your husband’s people,” Daniel says.

“That is an option, yes.”

“But without him here, you have no allies,” Daniel continues.

The statement isn’t meant as a jibe, but Castiel feels it strike anyway. “I have Anna and Hannah.”

“But protection—”

“I understand the value of that,” Castiel says sharply. “But so many people have made so many choices _for_ me in the name of protection, so perhaps I will define my own needs, thank you. You are all my kin, but I don’t see how you are any more my _allies_ than the locals of the Republic. You don’t know me any more than they do.”

Daniel flushes. “I didn’t mean disrespect, sir.”

“I know you didn’t, that’s the problem.” Castiel sighs. “Your thinking is that since Dean is my husband, that makes him yours by proxy. But it also goes the other way. I am as much theirs by my marriage as well.”

Someone mutters something at the edge of Castiel’s hearing. Castiel looks at Hannah, who leans in and says softly, “I think she said that they’re not respecting you properly here.”

“Well,” Castiel says loudly, “none of you are giving Dean _his_ dues either, so I see no difference.”

There’s a woman sitting in the front row, and she leans forward to pat Castiel on the arm. Castiel is too surprised by the sudden contact to react, but he does catch her gentle, “Don’t mind them, dear. We forget sometimes that underneath all the pomp and ceremony, you and your husband are still newlyweds, with all that entails.”

Castiel shrinks back a little, embarrassed yet gratified by her warm attention. “I, um. I’m not saying that you cannot criticize my husband, his people, or their policies. I’m just… it’s become personal, that’s all.”

“Of course,” she says. “You’re trying to fit in with your husband’s family, as well.”

“Yes, exactly. I…” Castiel trails off, abruptly aware of the eyes on him in a way he hadn’t been a few seconds ago. “This might not be the best time to think about it, what with so many things still in the air, but for most of my life, I’ve only been clear about what I _don’t_ want. Now there are some things that I… _do_ want. This is new for me.”

In speaking these things out loud, Castiel knows they are true. He also knows that he must tell Dean these things, the first chance he gets.

A distinctive whirr-click has Castiel snapping back to alertness. He looks up just in time to see a young man lower a Polaroid camera. This action is not all that different from Charlie’s yesterday, right down to the sheepish smile, yet this time Castiel’s blood abruptly runs cold.

“Hannah,” Castiel whispers.

“Yes,” Hannah says as she stands up. “Sir, I’m sorry, what’s going on over there?”

The young man blinks rapidly, clearly flustered. “Uh, I wasn’t even sure that it worked, but I was thinking, this is a historical moment, isn’t it, and my ma would not believe I was here unless I had proof, and…”

Castiel stands up sharply. Some of the people closest around him flinch, while others turn and glare at the young man.

“Excuse me,” Castiel says.

The next few seconds are a blur, whereby Castiel is only aware of Anna’s hand on his arm leading him towards the door, and the rising rumbling of discontent in the room. The people part way for them easily, but Castiel doesn’t stop feeling closed in and they’re finally past the doorway and standing in the courtyard outside.

“Hannah will handle it,” Anna says quietly.

“How fast does word spread?” Castiel asks. “Do we even know that Michael or Lucifer still care about finding me? What if I’m afraid for nothing? Why am I even _this_ afraid?”

“Because you have something to lose,” Anna reminds him.

Castiel hisses through his teeth. “I accepted this risk when I came here. I want to help.”

“There are other ways of helping,” Anna says. “It doesn’t have to be this.”

“Yet this is the only thing I have _here_. Every time I set foot in that room, this is what’s going to happen. I can’t just sit around and get to know people properly. I have to… hold court _._ ”

Anna snorts faintly. “That’s a way of looking at it.”

“That’s what it _is_. They deserve straight answers, and I’m happy to give it to them, but this is too close.”

Anna peers at him closely. “How do you feel about returning to Rexford?”

“You want to be here, don’t you?”

“Castiel,” Anna chides. “I can be helpful there as well.”

He’s already thought about this, especially last night when his back hurt somewhat from sleeping in Anna’s car. But the past few hours have really driven home that Castiel doesn’t have an official place here. Oh, Bobby would probably be fine with letting him be useful, but it feels unfair to demand space for himself as Dean’s spouse, when Dean himself isn’t here. If there’s anywhere on these grounds that Castiel could stay on his own terms, it’d be at the center with his people, but they already know that that’s not viable.

Besides, things are different now. Castiel and Anna are connected to the larger goings-on of the realm. They have access to information, and they can return if they need to.

“You’re all right with this?” Castiel asks.

“Yes,” Anna says. “It was always the plan to go back. Not to mention that I’m already wishing that I’d packed more clothes.”

Castiel laughs, grateful at the opening. “Yes, I’d like to go back.”

The decision made, Castiel wants to act quickly. He doesn’t want to be caught on the road during Dean’s nightly broadcast, even though that’s still hours away.

Bobby isn’t happy about this, but that’s not a surprise. Castiel finds him in the radio tower and tries to return the estate key as is appropriate, though Bobby breaks the ceremonial aspect of it by calling him an idiot and demanding to know what he’s doing.

“It doesn’t feel right, to be here without Dean,” Castiel says. “He knows where to find me, so it should be fine.”

“It ain’t a matter of fine,” Bobby says. “It’s a matter of you being out there alone.”

“I’m not alone, I have my sister.”

“So you’re being a wise guy now, huh.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Are you telling me that I _can’t_ , Master Singer?”

Bobby opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut. It’s a low blow but to be honest, Castiel feels that he’s entitled. Bobby grumbles, swears, and then reluctantly opens his hand, palm up, to receive the key that Castiel drops into it.

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

“Dean’s gonna be mighty pissed.”

“Perhaps, but I will manage.” Castiel starts to leave, but is held at the spot by Bobby’s unhappy shake of his head. He doesn’t care for Castiel as a person because he doesn’t know him, so his concern is derived from his concern for Dean. This, Castiel sympathizes with, so he adds gently, “You can’t be expected to babysit me. I’m just one person, while you have a world of responsibilities, and not just to the estate. Safety is relative. I could very well be less safe here, where I’m exposed to more people.”

“That was what I said when he got it into his brain to shout to the world about ya,” Bobby says. “But when that boy puts his mind to something, there’s few ways of stopping it.”

“One of the many things I love about him.”

Bobby gives him a look. “Apparently. Just… leave your details with Kevin, okay? The kid will want to poke ya.”

“I’m not disappearing off the face of this earth,” Castiel says. “I’m just slightly removed from this estate, a few towns over.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here, then. And keep your ass safe.”

“That’s kind of you,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Leaving the Turner estate feels like waking up from a dream. After Castiel says the handful of necessary goodbyes – to Kevin, who is also annoyed, and to Hannah, who’s managed to reclaim the Polaroid – it’s time to watch the estate get smaller and smaller through the window of Anna’s car. This time, however, there’s none of the anxiety of abandonment as what he’d felt leaving Ilchester. There are threads left incomplete, but they’re not frayed and damaged.

There is plenty of chatter to fill the air as they make their way down the main roads, out of the town and past the few relevant checkpoints. Anna can better elaborate on the people’s she’s met, like the woman who’d patted Castiel’s arm – Gail, Anna says her name is – and the questioning couple Daniel and Adina. Their stories are fascinating, and Anna is lively as she relates them to Castiel.

In no time they’re back on the winding mountain roads, and Castiel grows more aware of the strong sense of _returning_. Not so much returning home, because Anna’s cottage is not Castiel’s home, but to the peaceful, private space that Castiel had made for himself and on his own terms, over so many weeks. And this time, it truly is _peaceful_ , because Castiel now holds the certainty of Dean inside his heart.

Castiel knows that that’s a terrible thing to think now, with so much of the rest of the world drawn into the bullshit with Michael and Lucifer, but the thought remains.

At long last, Anna pulls her car into the space next to her cottage. She kills the engine, exhales, and says, “So. We’re back.”

Back to Anna’s cottage, with its uneven roof and cozy kitchen and secret radio. Everything looks the same, but Castiel sees it with new eyes, appreciating all over again the sheer effort Anna poured into making a new life for herself. Then Castiel wonders what Dean would make of this kind of place. He’d probably like it for its simplicity, functionality and warmth.

“Quiet,” Castiel says. He follows Anna in disembarking from the car and gathering his things, but he doesn’t feel like entering the cottage just yet. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Where to?”

“The Gas-n-Sip,” Castiel says. “I think I’d like to say hello.”

“Don’t forget your glasses and hat.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Little has changed in the mountain town over the past few days, though Castiel is vigilant in trying to spot what has been altered since his last walk down to work. The trees are as before, the rocky pathways as before, the sparsely-spaced buildings as before.

The Gas-n-Sip isn’t a particular attractive building, but Castiel’s chest swells with fondness when he sees it. That fondness only grows when he sees that Nora is behind the counter today, while Lila is carrying the trash out back.

Nora’s eyes light up when she sees Castiel enter the store, and Castiel doesn’t care that it’s pathetic that he can count the number of people he might get that reaction from. Nora has been nothing but kind to him when she had no reason to be, and especially when she had to tolerate those few weeks where he’d been nothing but surly and silent.

“Steve, you’re back!” Nora exclaims. “Everything went well, I hope?”

“Better than I hoped.” Castiel looks around the store. “No customers in just yet?”

“There’s one now,” Nora points out with a smile. “You just missed the school crowd. Some kids were asking about you.”

“Oh, that’s… I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Neither can I, to tell you the truth.”

“Nora.” Castiel knows that she’s busy since she’s on her shift, but it’s suddenly important that he do this now. “I owe you a great deal.”

Nora waves it off, a flick of her hand. “I kept telling you to use your off days.”

“No, I mean…” Castiel pulls off his glasses self-consciously. “I’ve been lying to you. My name isn’t Steve. It’s Castiel.”

Nora has spent enough years in retail that her smile, when it freezes, is still polite. In this pause, Castiel’s breath catches as he realizes why he wants to do this. He’d shaved the beard because he wanted Dean to see him, but that was just the first step. Then he’d wanted the northerners to see him, and then Dean’s friends to see him. Now, he wants Nora, his friend, to see him as well.

“I did wonder,” Nora says at last, “if you were just a look-alike. But with the beard gone, it’s really obvious. You could cut a tomato on that jawline of yours.”

“Um. Thank you.”

Nora’s smile is warm, and Castiel smiles back, relieved and grateful. “So, that husband of yours, Dean Winchester?”

“He’s fine,” Castiel says. “We’ve cleared the air, it was just a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Nora reaches out, taking Castiel’s hand in his and squeezing gently. “That is very good news, Steve. Castiel.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, voice a little tight. “I might not have done it if you hadn’t added that little push. So you may take credit for that, and my happiness.”

Nora’s eyes are bright. The purity of her empathy has Castiel reliving that moment of seeing Dean come towards him, and of that first unexpected kiss sealing away the weeks of uncertainty. Castiel doesn’t have much experience in this but he thinks it’s right for him to come around the counter, arms out a little for Nora to come into them for a hug. It’s a little awkward, but Nora makes up for Castiel’s shortcomings.

“Is he here?” Nora asks, once they part.

“Ah, there’s still work for him to do, so he’s preoccupied with that,” Castiel says. “But we have a promise now, which is more than I had before.”

Nora pauses, as though she’s debating whether to say something, and then she shakes her head and just goes, “Is he as handsome as he looks on TV?”

“More,” Castiel says. “Much more.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“It’s true. The TV and the newspapers don’t capture all the truth of him, both physical or not.”

Nora laughs. “That must make the million-watt stare quite alarming in real life.”

“The what?”

“The million-watt… Ah, that’s a slang, a kind of teasing nickname for the way you two looked at each other in your photographs? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it, it’s was all over the magazines during the heyday.” Nora retreats a little, cautious of his reaction. “This isn’t going too far, is it?”

“It’s fine, I can find amusement in that now. But I didn’t realize that there would be a nickname for my propensity to stare.”

“And your husband’s propensity to stare back.”

“No, Dean doesn’t…” Castiel trails off. “Does he?”

This somehow becomes reason to call Lila in so she can mind the counter, and then Nora’s leading Castiel into the backroom. Nora doesn’t keep many past issues of the periodicals they sell, but she does use glossy magazine pages to patch up the wooden shelves and notice board in her small office. Nora knows precisely what she wants to show Castiel, and takes him right to it.

“There,” Nora says. “That’s what the nickname means.”

Castiel stares at the picture, which is currently plastered on the lower left edge of her notice board, little pinholes in the image where she’d stuck pins in. Castiel could laugh, because this is the exact same image that he found in Dean’s room. He _could_ laugh, but he doesn’t, because this picture is whole. Dean’s in the photo right next to Castiel, their elbows touching, and while Castiel’s cool expression is very much familiar, Dean’s is not.

Dean is staring at Castiel. That much is undeniable. But his _eyes_.

Castiel has kissed Dean and had sex with him, yet looking at this photo feels like he’s intruding on something terribly private. Sometimes Dean can be difficult to read, yet his emotions are always on display, and never more so than in this split-second captured by the camera. Castiel didn’t even see it, and he was _there_.

He wishes he could remember exactly what was being said when this photograph was taken. Was it at the beginning of the interview, or towards the end? What is it that has just been spoken that Dean could look at Castiel with open amazement, his eyes soft with affection and his mouth slack with surprise, as though he hasn’t seen this side of Castiel’s face dozens of times before?

Is that why Dean ripped his copy of the picture, removing himself and only keeping Castiel’s face? Did he realize what had been caught on film? Yet if he was embarrassed, why did he keep Castiel’s half? There are so many other photographs of him out there, so why this moment?

“Oh, I, uh…” Nora says, a little anxiously. “I’m still on my shift, so I think I should head back out…”

“Thank you,” Castiel says quietly. “I missed this.”

“By the way, do I need to get word out that I have an opening for a new sales assistant?”

Castiel meets Nora’s amused gaze. “I do need the salary.” Nora accepts this with a graceful nod, but before she can exit the room, Castiel adds, “Would that be a poor idea? Since I apparently have a distinctive jaw?”

“I think that’s your call,” Nora says. “If you want this job, you have it. Free market and all that.”

“I really appreciate it,” Castiel says earnestly. “Please, don’t let me keep you. I’ll show myself out.”

Nora squeezes Castiel’s arm gently before bowing out. Castiel stays there for a moment longer to study the photograph, and then decides that it would be best if he heads back to Anna’s cottage and find a proper copy from her stack of old magazines. Surely if this picture is that common, he should be able to find a decent version somewhere.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Castiel and Anna are back in their regular places around the radio while Dean’s voice comes through the speakers: “ _Hold your horses, I got a lot to cover_.”

The relief of hearing Dean’s confident voice soon gives way to focus, as Dean talks about the stand-off at Stanford and the changing of sides. There was a skirmish today, he says, and some people were hurt but it’s under control right now, and word is that some branches of the Council are drawing manpower from other parts of the country to assist with the situation. Michael seems to be gearing up to take a final stand against his brother, wherever and however that might happen.

Castiel notes that Dean doesn’t mention any names of the people who’ve switched sides. He hopes that Dean’s family connections are helping instead of hindering, whatever is happening out there.

“ _Anyone who can move and get even further away from the hot zone, please do so. It’s not just a matter of safety, it’s also about resources – food, water, supplies, things like that. It’s practically an island out here, and with the camps keeping hold on the various corners, the ones who can’t move need all the help they can get. I wish I could say more, but this is all I got for now. Good night._ ”

The transmission ended, Anna cuts the silence with, “He has a real gift for sounding like he has everything under control.”

“That is very astute of you.”

While Anna leaves the room to deal with other matters, Castiel jots down his last thought in his notebook, about how Dean seems to believe that Michael has the upper hand now, and what that might mean for the movement as a whole. With Lucifer out of the way, Michael might be able to turn his attentions to other matters, unless he’s too exhausted by campaigning. Pride would prevent him from going home without a clear victory, but Michael’s definition of what a ‘clear victory’ is might have changed in these difficult months.

Castiel carefully marks the page with the magazine clipping he’d salvaged from Anna’s store room, and then closes the notebook.

“Hey,” Anna calls out loudly.

“Yes?”

“There’s a call for you.”

“What?” Castiel puts his book down. “Is it Dean?”

It is indeed Dean, who has decided to make the most of the resources at hand and patched a call straight to Anna’s phone. The fact that Dean would do this immediately after completing a radio broadcast means that he’d already planned it. Castiel is dizzy when he presses the phone receiver to his ear and says, “Hello?”

“ _Well, hello there,_ ” Dean says, cheerful and unmistakable, _“I’m just calling in case you might be interested in checking out my new record_. _It’s called: What the_ Hell _, Emmanuel?_ ”

Castiel stifles a laugh. “Is this the part where you’re mad at me?”

“ _Trucker Hat kept me updated_. _You doing okay out there, buddy_?”

“I should be asking _you_ that, Handyman,” Castiel replies. “Between the two of us, who is actually _in_ the danger area?”

“ _Ha fucking ha_.” Dean doesn’t sound angry, just on edge, though that’s understandable. “ _You want to know something?_ ”

“What?”

“ _I really want to suck your dick_.”

Castiel gasps faintly, his hip knocking against the side table when he fumbles with the receiver. “This was important enough to make a long-distance, possibly compromised, call for?”

“ _Hell, yeah. I need to refresh my memory, you know, ‘cause it’s been so long. How thick it is, the way it curves, how it tastes on my—_ ”

“You do know you don’t need to talk dirty to me to ensure that you’ll always be in my thoughts?”

There’s a brief pause. Castiel can just barely make out Dean’s breathing.

“ _Yeah_?” Dean says quietly.

“I miss you, too.”

“ _I still wanna suck your dick, though_.”

“Yes, dear. I will keep it in tip-top condition until you are reunited with it properly.”

“ _You’re the best, you know that?_ ”

Castiel closes his eyes and clutches the receiver against his ear. “But you _are_ okay?”

“ _Totally_. _It’s a goddamned mess, but I’m fine. We’re on it._ ”

There’s not much they can be candid about when talking on the line like this, but Castiel tells himself that this will be enough. “You will tell me if you’re not okay? Or have someone who will?”

“ _I promise. You too, though._ ”

“Of course.”

“ _Okay, I’ve made some people pretty mad by pulling this, so you’ll forgive me if I bid you adieu. Things to do, asses to kick, all that good stuff._ ”

“Don’t worry,” Castiel says. “I’m already grateful for this much. You take care, and you come back to me, as you said you would.”

There is a smile in Dean’s voice when he replies, “ _You can count on that one._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel knows when to be grateful. The days of the Stanford Stand-Off (as it becomes known) would be harder to bear if not for Dean’s voice, heard through the nightly radio sessions and rare phone calls. After weeks of movement and cat-and-mouse trickery, it all seems to be finally coming to a head, and Castiel – as well as Anna, Nora, and the many others watching from a distance – wait for a sign that something decisive has finally happened.

Anna was right about there being ways for them to helpful even when removed from the main highways. Kevin, irritated but understanding of Castiel’s decision to leave, sets appointments via Anna to ‘harass’ Castiel (his word, not Castiel’s) over the wire every few days. The first time was to share a message from Ellen saying that she’s received Castiel’s message, and that Castiel is to stay put and not get involved in anything, but there is no acknowledgement of Castiel’s advice or confirmation of Ellen’s stance about Michael. Less frustrating are Kevin’s questions about spell lore and transformative magic.

Kevin’s questions have to be vague out of necessity, but Castiel imagines that the young man is one point of a relay, and somewhere at the end of said relay is the front, where people like Dean make use of the knowledge to _do_ something.

That is one kind of usefulness. Castiel can even bring that usefulness into his hours at the Gas-n-Sip, where he can think about the relative power values of silver alloys in between stocking the shelves.

Regarding the Gas-n-Sip, it’s hard to tell whether Castiel’s loss of beard makes any difference in keeping him unnoticeable. On the surface, there isn’t any uptick in his being recognized as _Castiel_ , aside from one or two confused squints (usually from the schoolchildren, not the adults, funnily enough) that don’t lead anywhere. When Castiel discusses this phenomenon with Nora, she posits that he’s been at Rexford long enough that he’s part of the backdrop now and taken for granted; the mere removal of a beard isn’t enough to make people see, when they’ve already gotten used to him being That Quiet Guy at the Gas-n-Sip.

Castiel wants to tell Dean all of this, because it’s so _interesting_ , but with their communication limited so all he can offer via the phone is assurance that “it” is under control, which Dean responds with a pleased, “ _Good. But don’t forget to be paranoid for me, okay?_ ”

Dean’s reminder makes sense. Castiel knows that he’s no longer as careful as he once was, but on the other hand he’s also not as full of fear as he once was. Being stuck on the cusp of terror is draining, and he’s not sorry to see that pass. Besides, Castiel has Anna, and now Nora, to watch his back.

It’s nice. Nora is an extra pair of eyes when she’s in the store during Castiel’s shift, and she is helpful when Castiel asks her things he hadn’t bothered to before, such as the actual people that are part of Nora’s life outside the store, and how the events elsewhere in the country are affecting the people of Rexford.

Of course, this comes with a price of its own. It would be nice to say that Nora doesn’t treat him any differently, but that wouldn’t be true. Nora is supportive, kind and continues to give Castiel tasks as is required of his job, but there’s a subtle deference there, a reluctance to push even a little bit hard. Castiel doesn’t mind, though.

Then there’s Hannah. She’s still based at the Turner estate and still in close contact with Anna, yet Castiel had assumed that Hannah’s only point of interest would be Anna herself. He is proved wrong when Hannah shows up in person, at Rexford, and not because she needs to talk to Anna.

This happens twice during the weeks of the Stanford Stand-Off, and both times Castiel is flattered yet mildly alarmed by it. He knows that Anna has a standing invitation to visit Hannah whenever she wishes, but apparently Anna has returned that favor and then some.

“Our people have messages for you,” Hannah says, the first time that Castiel returns from work and finds Hannah there in the cottage, comfortable in Anna’s hospitality.

Castiel is surprised, and even more surprised that Anna doesn’t seem to mind that Hannah is there for him instead of her. “This couldn’t have come through the normal channels?” he asks.

“Well, there are some things that cannot be sent through the wire. At least, not without some creative translation.” Hannah has brought a package with her, which has been opened and laid out on Anna’s dining table. At first glance there are too many letters in the pile, and near the top are, bizarrely, a handful of children’s drawings.

Castiel picks up the topmost drawing. He is startled to recognize the stickman representations of himself and Dean, with roughly their correct hair colors and in their suits of presentation. The only true error Castiel can see is that stick-him is taller than stick-Dean. “What are these for?”

“Some were distressed at your leaving,” Hannah explains. “So most of these are indirect apologies for their possible role in making that happen. The rest are those who merely wish to share something with you.”

Castiel places his hand on the top of the stack, feeling the breadth of it. “So word has traveled.”

Hannah sighs sadly. “With the situation in Stanford deteriorating, and Michael taking out his desperation on his own people… I suppose they look to you as a reminder that the royal line isn’t entirely driven by selfishness. There is comfort that you are out here trying to survive, just like us. Like them.”

“I wouldn’t want to take away people’s hopes…” Castiel says reluctantly. “But I don’t even know them.”

Anna says, “They don’t know Michael either, yet he demands everyone’s loyalty by right.”

Castiel makes a face at her. “That isn’t as comforting as you might think it is.”

“I’m just a messenger,” Hannah says kindly, apologetically. “If you don’t want them, I can take it away.”

“No, that would be disrespectful.” Castiel sighs. “Leave it. This is a kindness, I can see that. And you may tell them that if they are in search of ways to expend their energy, tell them to help each other, whether the nearest person in need is their own countryfolk or not. These are difficult times, so let us not make them more difficult.”

Hannah smiles. “Thank you. I will let them know.”

That is the first visit. The second is more the same, except that package is larger and the artistic children have managed to get Dean’s eye color correct. Castiel is still bewildered by the whole thing, but Anna finds it amusing (“Ah, bless the fanmail,” she says with a laugh) so, really, who is Castiel to judge?

 

* * *

 

 

The second round – _third_ round, when Castiel thinks about it clearly – of being away from Dean cannot be placed in the same category as the previous two. Castiel is not disappointed with Dean as he was at the Chambers House, nor is he confused and lost as he was during the first stage of his hiding.

 _This_ time, Castiel has Dean’s promise planted like a seed inside him, and over the weeks that he waits, that seed grows. It is longing, but it is hopeful instead of wistful, and anticipative instead of regretful. Their communication is irregular, but Castiel can hear his want mirrored in Dean’s words, in the way his bluster never lasts long, for his voice always drops to the quiet almost-admission of the things they cannot say candidly over the air.

This hopefulness grows as news comes out of Stanford that there are decisions actually being made, and steps being taken. Castiel hears about how some hunters have drawn a giant Binding Gate on one side of the town, trapping a significant portion of Lucifer’s forces that are sensitive to sigil marks. Castiel is surprised, and then intrigued and satisfied, for he recognizes in the reported action some of Kevin’s questions about the scaling up of salt and silver boundaries.

Lucifer is weakening, the newscasters say. Michael is able to press a stronger advantage, because a significant portion of the Republic’s forces has overcome their infighting to put their weight behind the common goal of ousting Lucifer. Dean confirms all the above in his broadcast, but he’s so sarcastic about it that it’s clear that not everyone is happy with this decision. Castiel and Anna conclude that Ellen has offered some very attractive terms to her people (and possibly to Michael) to make this happen.

News takes time to travel, so Castiel (and the rest of Rexford) only learn about Lucifer’s second exile half a day after it happens.

Castiel is doing his morning checking of the shelves when Nora arrives at the store.

“Turn on the news,” she calls out as she goes to the back to store her things. “All the way up, let’s hear it.”

It’s an unusual request for the morning, but Castiel acquiesces, finding the nearest news channel and carefully raising the volume.

“… _we’re still awaiting confirmation on this, but the Line is now open. His Majesty the Royal Highness King Michael and his retainers are currently making their way up to St. Lebanon, a trip that will take a few hours, so people along the route – don’t be alarmed by the motorcade, it’s all in order._ ”

Nora is still adjusting her ponytail and vest when she returns to the counter. Her wide eyes meet Castiel’s in excitement, and she bobs her head in a way that Castiel belatedly realizes is her invitation for him to join her enthusiasm.

“It broke in the early hours,” Nora says. “They were talking about it all the way up through the fields.”

Castiel has to keep listening to the newscast in order to catch up on Nora’s meaning. When it does, Castiel has to stand there for a moment, letting it sink in.

“Isn’t this good news?” Nora asks.

“It’s hard to tell without further information.” Castiel quickly shakes his head and smiles at her. Nora’s worries aren’t his worries, and isn’t fair to make little of her obvious joy. “But this is excellent news, yes.”

It seems that Stanford has finally been let go. The local authorities have regained control of the town after the increased struggles of the past few days, and Lucifer has fled back east into the wilderness, with some minor hunter forces chasing after him. Michael has also graciously made exit from the town and is heading north to the capital to meet Ellen.

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” Nora says. “You’re worried that your husband might be among those chasing Lucifer down.”

That is one worry, yes. “I’m sure he can handle himself,” Castiel says. “He’s lived on the edge of the borders for a great portion of his life.”

Nora accepts this with polite grace and turns her attention the immediate matters of the gas station, but Castiel’s thoughts linger on this new piece of information. It isn’t just the thought of Dean rushing into the wilderness that worries him. If Dean wishes to be part of the final garrison out to quash Lucifer once and for all, then so be it. It isn’t that much different from what Castiel has had to live with over the past few weeks.

What Castiel _is_ caught on is the apparent fact that Michael isn’t going after Lucifer himself. What could have happened in Stanford that Michael is no longer interested in finishing what Lucifer started so many years ago? The king still needs a clear victory, and his rival disappearing into the mists of the untamed wilderness doesn’t seem to be one.

All these questions churn around Castiel’s brain. Also among them is a new thought with a new mental voice that sounds remarkably like Dean, and it says: _There you go again, jumping straight to the worst possible outcome._

That voice would be correct, for Castiel _is_ heading straight into his worst expectations. This is what he does. This is how he keeps himself grounded. This is how he keeps himself removed.

As Castiel goes about his day, stocking the shelves and helping customers pump their gas, he imagines in fits and starts what it might be like from Dean’s point of view, trying to love someone like him. Dean is so open with his emotions, and so generous with his regard. Then there’s Castiel.

That promise Castiel holds inside him isn’t merely the promise of Dean’s return. It’s also a promise for _after_ , once the situation has settled down and the rest of their lives roll up to their feet like a welcoming mat. Dean wants him to be there, and Castiel wants to be there with him. Castiel should be thinking about _that_ , and planning for _that_ , instead of worrying about the hows and whys of Michael’s decisions.

Michael has no place in the new life Castiel wants for himself.

That kind of wish is exhilarating. It is also dangerous, which is why Castiel hasn’t let himself think of it too much, even in these past weeks waiting for the storm to pass. But now, confronted with the possibility of the storm actually _passing_ , Castiel thinks – wow. _Wow._ The _after_ might actually almost be _here_.

Castiel is thinking so hard about this that he makes all sorts missteps throughout the day. He punches in the wrong numbers for two customers and takes the deserved rebuke. When the day’s rush of schoolchildren come in, he spills the refill for the milkshake machine. Later still, he only belatedly notices that a large black car has pulled up into the station and has to call out to Lila to check whether the customer needs help.

Castiel tries to make up for his lack of focus by giving his full attention to ringing up the next customer. This is why, when said customer steps aside, Castiel isn’t expecting the person who steps up to his counter next.

“Hey.” Dean is grinning from ear to ear. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some beef jerky and a pack of menthols ‘round here?”

Castiel blinks, and then blinks again. “What are you doing here?”

“ _That’s_ your opening?” Dean asks. “Mine was better.”

“No, but. _You_.” Castiel whips his head around quickly. There are a few other customers in the store, but no one seems to notice anything amiss. “How are you here?”

“Vroom vroom,” Dean says.

Castiel turns back to the window, eyes drawn to the big black car that is still there, though Lila has moved on and is dealing with the next car down. A touch on his neck has Castiel turning back to Dean, who has apparently decided that he can just reach over the counter and hook his finger into Castiel’s collar.

“What,” Castiel says.

“C’mon, you know what,” Dean says patiently. “I’m running on fumes and half a dozen cups of coffee, so… you know.”

“I’m at _work_ ,” Castiel hisses.

“I can see that.” Dean slowly looks him up and down, which gives Castiel the ridiculous urge to cover his chest. “Sexy.”

“Dean.”

“It’s cool,” Dean insists. “I didn’t desert or anything like that. We got it under control, so I asked if I could take my leave so hey, here I am. Don’t jump for joy or anything like that. Wait, you did hear what’s happened, haven’t you?”

“Could you step aside for a moment, I have another customer.”

Dean does a little salute-flourish with one hand, and then side-steps the way out of the next person in line.

It takes Castiel a second to get his brain in order, his eyes finally slipping away from Dean’s indulgent smile to the customer before him that needs his attention. Yes, the customer. The customer needs gas, and Castiel has to set the amount in the machine and signal to Lila to start pumping. Castiel does all of this, and only watches from the corner of his eye how Dean leans against the counter insolently, body swaying a little as though to music that only he can hear.

Dean must have driven all night, or something close to it. How to – how can – how does Castiel deal with that? It’s strange as hell to see him here, too, in this place that Castiel’s spent so many hours longing for him.

Castiel’s latest customer wanders off once he’s settled his business, and since there is no one else in queue, Dean just swoops on right back in, saying, “So, this is a nice place you got here.”

“It’s not mine,” Castiel says. “I’m a sales associate, I mentioned that.”

“Yeah, _Steve_ ,” Dean drawls. His reaches out and rubs his thumb along the nametag on Castiel’s vest. The pressure is innocent but seems to shoot a straight line of heat to Castiel’s lower stomach. “You collecting names or what?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Castiel says.

Dean’s smile seems to deepen. He rests one elbow on the counter and leans on it as though he has all the time in the world. Maybe from his point of view, he does. “Messes with your head a little, don’t it? Me showing up out of the blue?”

Castiel considers this. “You mean like how I found you at the Turner estate?”

“ _Exactly_ like that.”

“So this is revenge?”

“You can say that, too.”

Then there should be kissing at this point. Castiel is certain that that’s on Dean’s immediate agenda, and Castiel would be all for that, but this isn’t like the mess hall of an open community. In fact, Castiel’s boss is just now reappearing from where she’s been receiving a new consignment out back, and Castiel practically snaps to attention when he sees her.

“Uh,” Castiel says. Nora joins him behind the counter, repeating numbers under her breath, and Castiel clears his throat. “Nora, this is my…”

Nora looks up, follows Castiel’s gaze, and recovers with a flawless little nod. “Welcome to Rexford.”

“Thanks,” Dean says cheerfully. “Nora, right? Thanks for taking care of my man here.”

“Dean,” Castiel says.

“Am I wrong, though?”

Nora pulls out a new packet of straws and starts arranging them in the holder. “Does this mean all the highways are open again?”

“Not yet, but it’s in the process,” Dean says. “There’s still major lockdown along the south eastern borders, ‘cause it ain’t clear where Lucifer’s posse has made off to, but Ellen should be calling the emergency state off in the outer counties soon, I’m thinking.”

“That’s excellent,” Nora says. “Do you need gas for your car?”

Dean looks at Castiel. “Shouldn’t you be asking me that?”

Castiel waits, but Dean just keeps on smiling at him. “Do… you need gas?”

“Yeah, I totally do,” Dean says. “Come help me.”

Castiel sneaks a glance at Nora, who’s still squinting at the straws but makes a gesture with her fingers that can only be construed as permission to proceed. Castiel still feels self-conscious when he steps out from behind the counter, though Dean merely puts his hands in his pockets and heads for the door, trusting that Castiel will follow.

Outside, Castiel’s attention is abruptly caught by the car. Dean’s car, the black Impala that he’d spoken of in the past, the symbol of the self-made island of his immediate family. As Castiel draws up to it, he’s able to make out the family badge printed in the chrome of front bumper. The sword, the blunderbuss and the impala are all rendered in stunning, subtle detail. No colorful door badges for this family.

Castiel doesn’t know this car beyond what Dean’s told him, but the sight of it brings home an acute awareness of the life Dean has outside of his being a dutiful Hunter son of the Campbell and Winchester Houses. Dean is also just a man, with hobbies and likes and bad habits, and this car is part of that identity. This car is part of that potentially simple life that Castiel wants to be part of.

“Say hello,” Dean says, his voice low and close at Castiel’s side.

“Hello,” Castiel says. “Does she actually need gas?”

“Not really.”

“Wait.” Castiel turns and catches the edge of Dean’s jacket. Dean’s not actually going anywhere, but it feels right to hold on to that little corner of leather, tugging gently and waiting for Dean’s eyes to rise from Castiel’s hand up to his face. “Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean says.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being all right,” Castiel says. “For coming here. I was worried about you but I knew I had no leg to stand on because I let you worry about _me_ for so long so carelessly. Yet I still couldn’t help myself from imagining the worst, wondering what you were going through, if you were okay, if you were eating enough…”

Dean takes Castiel’s babbling with a smile and a mild nod, moving closer even as Castiel goes on about how he’s been trying his best to patient but sometimes he’s weak and there are so many things he wants to tell him. By the time Castiel trails off, Dean’s slipped one arm around to brace Castiel’s shoulders and set his other hand at Castiel’s waist.

“I’m very happy to see you,” Castiel quietly.

“Yeah, I got that.” Dean moves with breathtaking intent, eyes closing just as his lips meet Castiel’s. Castiel shuts his eyes and sighs into the kiss, and then gasps a little when Dean _keeps moving_ , his arms supporting Castiel’s body as he guides him into a dramatic dip. Castiel’s knees protest and his stomach swoops at the loss of balance, but Dean is holding him so carefully, so deliberately. All Castiel need do is bear the excellent kiss.

Castiel is dizzy when Dean guides him back up to stand on his own feet again. Dean draws back but keeps his hands loosely holding Castiel’s, and his eyes are calm.

“You planned that,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, but not for today, actually,” Dean says. “After I got that letter of yours way back, I started really thinking about what I’d do when I saw you again. _That_ was what I wanted to do, wherever or whenever that happened, whoever the fuck was watching.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“’Cause you were totally not down for it,” Dean says with a warm laugh. “The hell were you holding your coffee like you were gonna throw it in my face?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“You were gonna do _something_.” Dean’s eyes catch something behind Castiel’s shoulder, and his smile turns sheepish. “Pardon the language, ma’ams.”

Castiel turns. A small group of pre-teen schoolchildren are there, and they’re trying to appear as though they’re just casually hanging around eating their ice-cream. One of them whispers something and shoves at her friend, which kicks off a mild pushing match that has Castiel alarmed.

“Don’t do that,” Castiel says. “No fighting on the premises.”

Dean chokes on a laugh. “Really, Cas?”

“I don’t know if that’s an actual rule,” Castiel admits, “but it should be.”

Dean steps back from Castiel a little, and waves at the group. “Hey there. Is there anything we can help you ladies with?”

There’s more tittering and avoidance of eye contact, and then a whisper of, “ _No one’s gonna believe us anyway_ ” Castiel is abruptly aware of Lila frowning at them from the other side of the store, a rag and wiper in her still hands.

One of the schoolgirls finally steps forward and clears her throat. “We were just admiring your car. It’s pretty cool. Don’t see much of that around here.”

Dean, playing along, deliberately looks at his car, then back at the group. “I’d love to take y’all for a ride, but that would be way creepy.” He nudges at Castiel’s elbow. “Shouldn’t you be introducing me to your regulars?”

“Um.” Castiel eyeballs the young ladies – five of them, now that he counts – and is unsettled that at least two of them are grinning expectantly, as though this is the most interesting thing that has happened to them all day. “Sorry, I don’t know their names.”

“What kind of Rexfordian are you?” Dean scoffs.

“That’s not a word,” Castiel says.

One of the girls blurts out: “Have you really been staying here this whole time?”

“I just got here,” Dean says. “Oh, you mean my hubby.”

There goes Dean’s skills at making people feel comfortable. The group titters approvingly, and the girl who spoke up is emboldened enough to say, “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Not this _whole_ time,” Castiel says. “But for most of it, yes.”

The girl nods. “Cool. Thanks. Sorry to bug you.”

“Not a problem,” Castiel says. The group seems to take this as their cue to make a graceful exit, poking and pulling each other away from their spot and heading down the road. Dean apparently finds this amusing, his breath coming out in soft huffs as he slings an arm around Castiel’s shoulders to hold him close.

“You’re not ‘out’ yet,” Dean says. “I thought you would be by now.”

“Didn’t seem necessary,” Castiel says.

“Did I just ruin it for you?” Dean says. “I thought that ‘cause it’s all over, we can… You know, you can come with me.”

“ _Is_ it over?”

“Michael’s out,” Dean says. “It was part of the deal with Ellen. She told him she’d get as many of us working together on the same mission – taking Lucifer out – as long as Michael leaves once it’s done.”

“But Lucifer isn’t caught, and Michael isn’t gone.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but… we’re closer than we’ve been in months.” Dean says this hesitantly, as though it’s only just now occurred to him how that sounds like to someone who’s been on the outside. Castiel doesn’t know and won’t ever know the full extent of what Dean’s been through, yet here Dean is, still gentle and reaching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I was always going to have to reclaim my name eventually,” Castiel says. “I don’t fear it happening the way I used to. If I’m going to make a new life for myself here, I’ll have to be me.”

Dean exhales with relief. “I wasn’t kidding about the running on fumes thing, though.”

“I still have a few more hours until my shift ends,” Castiel says apologetically. “Nora would let me go if I asked, but she’s been too kind with me already.”

“Can I just say that this is the weirdest thing?” Dean plucks at Castiel’s blue vest curiously. “I’ve seen you in high-class robes and snarking at the goddamned king. And here you are stocking shelves and mopping floors.”

“It’s a good job, Dean.”

“Right, right, I didn’t mean…” Dean coughs faintly. “You know what I mean.”

“I know that your car has been sitting out here for much longer than is necessary,” Castiel says. “I’ve been distracted almost the whole day, so I don’t even know when it initially turned up.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” The tips of Dean’s ears are getting pink, though. “Shall I pick you up when your shift’s done or what?”

“What will you do with yourself?”

“Oh my god, Cas, I can entertain myself. Take this, though.” Dean reaches into his leather jacket, taking out a worn envelope that he hands over. Castiel is confused until he opens it, finding a pair of beautiful glossy photos of himself and Dean at the table of his makeshift radio studio.

In the first picture Dean is talking into the microphone, but his eyes are focused to the side, where Castiel is sitting at an angle to the table. Castiel is clutching Charlie’s notepad to his chest, silently enthralled by what he’s listening. In the second picture they’re both fully turned to each other, and Castiel is the one talking. There is a sense of urgency in Castiel’s expression, and Dean is frowning with his mouth pursed, utterly focused on Castiel in return.

“It’s funny, in a way,” Castiel says distantly. “These images are as posed as all the others. Yet they manage to be the most real. Thank you.”

“No problem. You get on with your… sales assistant things.”

Castiel kisses Dean on the cheek, and wiggles away when Dean tries to move his mouth to somewhere more interesting. Castiel gives him a look – _later_ , please – which Dean accepts with an agreeable smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

Surprisingly, Castiel is able to focus better during the rest of his shift. He can do arithmetic in his head and perform his tasks with higher accuracy, though he suspects that it comes at the cost of being unable to wipe the smile off his face no matter what’s happening or how his customers are complaining.

Nora doesn’t comment on this, or pry on the reasons for Dean’s presence. That’s because she’s a professional. She doesn’t even mention Dean until Castiel’s about to clock off for the day, and even then it’s just to say, “You should take him out to the fields, the view is beautiful there even from a car.”

“I will do that,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

Dean returns to the Gas-n-Sip just before their agreed time, and charms the elderly customer who needs help with his wipers while he’s waiting. Castiel has many favorite things about Dean, but one of them has to be that first second or so when Dean looks up and sees him, recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Hey.” Dean leans over, suave as anything, and pops the passenger door open for him. “After you.”

“I hope you weren’t bored,” Castiel says.

Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and practically bounces his way around the car to the driver’s side. Once they’re both seated comfortably, Dean turns to Castiel with bright, expectant eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel places a hand on the dashboard, though the action fails to bring any new knowledge. “I don’t know much about cars. I can see that she is well-cared for, but…”

“This isn’t a test,” Dean says with a laugh. “Relax, Cas.”

“How about I show you the town?” Castiel suggests. “I really like the library, it’s an ancient watch house that was converted. The main square has a charm of its own, too. Or we could go to this spot out by the higher fields, the view is amazing, Nora just reminded me.”

“Or,” Dean says slowly, “you could take me to your place.”

“Anna’s place,” Castiel corrects. “All right, I can do that. Back on to the main road, I’ll direct you.”

The fact is, Castiel’s general needs may be many but his _immediate_ needs are few, and among them is the simple joy of Dean’s presence. Castiel is beyond content to sit in Dean’s car and listen to him speak, whether about his drive, or his earlier sightseeing of Rexford, or how Sam and his parents are doing (answer: fine). Castiel also gets to enjoy the flex of Dean’s jean-clad thighs while he drives.

Castiel tries to prompt for details about what happened in Stanford, but Dean is reticent to go into it, brushing over the role he played in bringing his Campbell cousins into agreement with Ellen’s terms, or the crucial fighting that Castiel knows happened (via Kevin) when Lucifer unleashed his force of dragons and wyvern in an aerial attack over where he thought Michael had made camp.

Instead Dean prefers for Castiel to tell him about the road they’re on, the fields they’re passing, the cottages on the way to Anna’s lot. It is utterly mundane in comparison to what Dean’s been through, but Dean seems honestly interested in knowing things like the route Castiel usually takes to walk to work.

“There’s really nothing much to it,” Castiel says.

“Indulge me.” Dean is partially turned in his seat, elbow almost knocking the door and fingers light on the steering wheel. He is picturesque, handsome, relaxed. “C’mon, Cas, there wasn’t a day where I wasn’t wondering what you were doing. And now I get to see for myself what you were up to, so… Help me fill the blanks here, okay?”

Chastened, Castiel starts telling him about how he got the job with Nora in the first place, and follows up with anecdotes of that working life.

It’s only once they’ve parked the Impala next to Anna’s usual spot, and Castiel has brought Dean into the cottage, that it fully sinks in that Dean is here. Dean, who shines like a particularly foul-mouthed sun, is _here_ , in this place that for months Castiel has defined by its aching absence of Dean. Yet Dean doesn’t feel like an intruder forcing his way into the quiet. His moves with ease through Anna’s home, shrugging off his leather jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door as though he’s always been here.

Castiel goes through the essentials, pointing out the sitting area, dining area, the narrow corridor that leads off into the bedrooms on one way and the other way to the kitchen.

“Where’s Anna?” Dean asks.

“At work,” Castiel says. “It’s some time yet before she returns.”

Dean just nods mildly. “Anyone else you expecting?”

“Not to my knowledge. It’s a nice, private corner Anna has here.” Castiel waits, but Dean just _hmms_ under his breath. “Anyway, yes. We listen to your broadcast from the radio there. Usually we sit around here, but sometimes we’re at the dining table.”

Dean nods, and then fixes Castiel with an all-too-guileless look. “But not always here, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t always listen to my show from here,” Dean says. “Sometimes you use a Walkman, right?”

Castiel’s throat thickens. Dean hasn’t actually _done_ anything, hasn’t touched him or made a single innuendo-laden joke the whole drive over, but Castiel’s skin thrums. He wants to be near Dean, whatever way he can, and sometimes that’s sex. Dean’s mind must be on sex as well, because this is _Dean_ , yet he’s still standing half a room away from Castiel and made no move to approach him.

Well, he’s half a room away and asking Castiel about his _Walkman._ Castiel says, hesitantly, “Did Sam tell you?”

“Yeah, he mentioned the tapes,” Dean says, perfectly polite and agreeable. It’s like all his energy has been dialed down, and it has Castiel almost vibrating in anticipation. “Tapes, plural, which I’m thinking means you were listening to ‘em more than once. Maybe… way more than once.”

“That was for me, mostly,” Castiel says. “Anna didn’t really need them, and I took down notes for her.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I would listen to them at work, sometimes, when Nora let me.”

“Where else?” Dean asks, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking.

Castiel knows exactly what he’s asking. His mouth is dry as he leads the way, Dean close behind him as they take the dozen or so steps past the dining room and into Castiel’s room. The converted guest room. The room that Castiel has not at all prepared for a visitor but it’s too late to do something about that now.

Dean closes the door behind them. Castiel’s stomach jumps when Dean turns the latch with a decisive _click_. His eyes are on Castiel the entire time.

“So, yes,” Castiel says. “This is Anna’s spare room, which was previously a study. I sleep here. My clothes are in that wardrobe, with some of her books. I apologize for the mess. But, yes, sometimes I...”

Dean is walking towards him, his steps decisive. He stops maybe a foot in front of him and starts unbuttoning Castiel’s blue vest.

“Sometimes I listen to the tapes here,” Castiel says, eyes on Dean’s face instead of Dean’s hands, which are working the buttons efficiently. “It’s better to listen in here, where there’s less noise pollution. Not that there’s much noise pollution out there, I know, because there isn’t much traffic in these parts, aside from Anna’s car. And the nearest neighbors don’t pass this way either, unless they need to borrow something from Anna, but that doesn’t happen much. Only twice, since I’ve arrived here.”

Dean’s finished with the vest and drags it down Castiel’s arms before dropping it aside. His attention then turns to Castiel’s shirt, undoing the garment with the same quick movements.

“So yes, this room is really comfortable for that purpose,” Castiel says. “Anna has been very generous with her resources. Though the tapes – the tapes are from the Gas-n-Sip, the employee discount is most useful for, for that.” His shirt is off now, and joins the vest on the floor.

Dean catches the hem of Castiel’s undershirt and drags it up. Castiel tips his head back to help Dean pull it off, and this motion feels so lewd, so intimate, that Castiel’s next breath comes out shaky.

“So you get your tapes from the store,” Dean says. “Good way to avoid unwanted questions.”

“You’re actually listening to what I’m saying?” Castiel says.

Dean grins suddenly, a flash of dangerous white teeth. “I do that sometimes.”

So Castiel is now topless, arms dangling useless by his sides while Dean studies what he sees. Castiel knows he hasn’t regained all his weight, and although his daily walks to and from work have been beneficial, they aren’t the same as his previous health regimen. Yes, Castiel knows all of this, but he doesn’t feel the urge to hide himself, or shy away from Dean’s scrutiny. Let Dean see. Goodness knows Dean’s waited long enough.

Curious to know what Dean will do next, Castiel remains still. He’s surprised when, instead of touching Castiel, Dean brings his hand up to his mouth, the pink of his tongue making an appearance where it wets the pad of Dean’s thumb.

“You were saying,” Dean says.

“What?” Castiel says. “The tapes?”

Dean nods, and slowly lowers his hand.

“What else is there to say? I record your shows when they air, and I listen to them when—” Castiel hisses when Dean runs his thumb, cool with spit, over Castiel’s left nipple. Arousal has been slowly churning in the background of Castiel’s awareness but it surges forward like lightning through Castiel’s limbs, striking him where he stands.

“Dean,” Castiel gasps.

“You listen to them when…?” Dean prompts.

“What?”

Dean just smiles at him serenely, as though he isn’t rolling Castiel’s nipple into a stiff peak. “When do you listen to the tapes? When you’re jerking off?”

Castiel’s face grows hot. This finally gets him to break eye contact, though Dean apparently takes that as his cue to suck on his other thumb and then bring it to Castiel’s other nipple. Castiel makes a keening sound and almost lose his balance, but luckily Dean is here and carefully catches him, guiding him backward until his thighs make contact with the edge of Anna’s desk. Wonderful.

“You wanna answer me?” Dean says gently.

“Yes,” Castiel says quietly. “Sometimes I did touch myself when I listened to them. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you were talking about…” Castiel shakes his head. It is very hard to concentrate with Dean’s fingers back to plucking at his nipples. All Castiel wants to do is spread his legs, not answer stupid questions. “You were talking about serious things.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says. “If it’s wrong, then we were wrong together, ‘cause I was totally getting off on the thought of you getting off to me.”

Castiel blinks. “Really?”

“Totally.” And then Dean _steps back_ , the bastard, taking with him his wonderful hands. “Show me?”

“Show you what?” Castiel asks.

“How you touched yourself.”

Castiel stares, unsure that he heard correctly. It does sound like something Dean would say, but the controlled calmness behind it is new. In fact, Dean’s still backing away from him, step after step, until he’s leaning against the opposite wall of Castiel’s small room. Waiting for Castiel to move first.

So Dean wants to prolong this, does he?

Castiel licks his lips. He’s not like Dean, who’s aware enough of his body that he can make an effective show of it, but this is an era for new things. Happy to give it a try, Castiel reaches down to open the buttons of his slacks. These second-hand pants never fit him very well anyway, so they drop past his hips as soon as they’re loosened, bunching on the floor.

Castiel doesn’t need visual confirmation that he’s hard. Castiel doesn’t need visual guidance to reach into his briefs and draw his cock out, either. It’s far more rewarding to watch Dean’s face, the way he tries to hide his grin behind his hand.

“I don’t actually do it like this,” Castiel says, pushing past the hoarseness of his throat. “I’m usually in the bed. I’ll have earphones on, so my hands are free.”

“Uhuh,” Dean says. “You on your stomach or back?”

“Stomach,” Castiel says. “I like to rub against the mattress. But I put a towel there first. To assist with clean-up.”

Dean nods solemnly. “Good thinking.”

“Thank you.” Castiel pushes his briefs down to his ankles so that Dean may have a better view. It should feel ridiculous that he’s standing here mostly naked while Dean has yet to shed anything besides his leather jacket, but it doesn’t. It feels right. Castiel is stroking his erection lightly, and Dean is almost drooling, and it feels right. “Dean.”

“Yep?” Dean says.

“No, that’s what I usually say when I touch myself.” Castiel squeezes lightly around the glans, and smiles when Dean jumps at the little spurt of pre-come. “It’s you that’s central to my arousal, after all.”

“Oh, right.” Dean is still nodding. “Good, good.”

“Sometimes I put my fingers inside, too.”

Dean makes a faint high-pitched noise. “Do you like that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “It’s boring. When you do it to me, it feels good. But when I do it, it’s just… fingers.”

“Aww, Cas,” Dean says, his voice finally, _finally_ , breaking. “Maybe you just don’t know how to do it right.”

“Maybe I don’t want to know.” The ache between Castiel’s legs isn’t satisfied by the gentle pumping of his hand, yet Dean keeps his distance. “Maybe I prefer for you to bear that responsibility.”

“Um.” There is sweat on Dean’s forehead, visible even from across the room. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Can you show me how you open yourself? You know. For science.”

Castiel looks down at his crotch. His cock is not all the way hard but it’s nearing there, the shaft curving slightly in the circle of Castiel’s fingers. “I’m not done stroking himself.”

“No, your—your other hand, you can… you know.”

“Oh.” Castiel licks his lips and thinks. “Well. It’s one or the other, isn’t it? I can’t…”

“You can’t?” Dean’s voice is returned to its usual cadence, and Castiel sighs.

Castiel wanted to excite Dean to the point that he would finally close the distance between them, but it isn’t arousal that has Dean finally crossing the room – his steps quick instead of dramatic – and taking Castiel’s left arm in his hands. Castiel tries to turn away from him but it’s too late, Dean’s already studying the scars that dip between the damaged lines of the tattoo.

“Oh shit,” Dean says. “This is from when you broke it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Can you still move your fingers? How is the—”

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly. “I haven’t had you in ages. _Months._ All that time I’ve only had the memory of you, of your hands and your skin, and the way you – you move inside me, and even that fades in time.”

“That can wait,” Dean says.

“ _Why_?” Castiel pulls his arm free from Dean’s hands, so to put both his hands on the desk behind him and arching his back in display of what he’s offering. “I _want_ you. Don’t you want me back?”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Dean wheezes. His body bows forward a little, and Castiel has profound sympathy for his neglected erection. “Of course I want you back, you son of a bitch. Been thinking ‘bout nothing else since I saw your stupid face staring at me from across the mess hall, would’ve swept you straight up into my room and fucked you silly if I could have gotten away with it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Castiel asks.

“’Cause I…” Dean swallows. “I want to do it right. That means, you know… checking in on you proper, making sure you, um… you know. Don’t want you to think I only want you for this. I want all of you.”

Castiel feels his face burn. Dean is the passionate one and Castiel is the… _other_ one, yet here they are.

“Talk to me,” Dean says hoarsely. “That’s your thinking face. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“There is too much. You’re driven by your passions more than I am, yet… you now slow yourself down for me. So I can keep up with you.” Castiel presses a hand to his heart. “I am overwhelmed.”

“You’re shaking, too,” Dean says. Castiel exhales loudly when Dean’s hands touch his chest, Dean’s palms moving lightly over the skin until they find the shape of his hips and stay there. Dean’s brow furrows. “Cas, are you nervous?”

“You know what they say about expectations,” Castiel says. “I suppose this is how nervous I would’ve been on my wedding night, if I cared about that sort of thing then. Am I pleasing for you? _Can_ I please you? I didn’t worry about this before, but now I do.”

“Me, too.” Dean nods rapidly. “God, me too.”

When Dean finally kisses him, Castiel practically sobs, the wretched sound one of relief and frustration. One kiss turns into two to three to countless more, Dean’s mouth slotted hot and demanding against Castiel’s, and Dean’s hands pawing eagerly at Castiel’s ass. All the hunger Castiel knew was there in Dean is now unleashed in the way they grab at each other and moan into each other’s mouths. It is exhilarating. In the past Castiel hadn’t put much thought to how miraculous it is that someone like Dean would want him, but now he knows, and now he has full appreciation of it.

While Dean hauls Castiel closer against his body, Castiel clutches at Dean’s shoulders, fingers digging into his plaid shirt in a futile attempt to tear it away.

“Ow,” Castiel gasps. “Dean, your belt.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Dean fumbles with the offending garment, while Castiel presses his mouth to the space under Dean’s ear, licking and biting what he can. Dean shouts his triumph when he drags his belt out, and then Castiel’s helping Dean push down his jeans and underwear, though only as far as is necessary to get Dean’s cock out.

Castiel’s world is narrowed down to the sensation of what they’re doing together. There is Dean – his touch, his laugh, his enthusiastic fumbling with the packet of lubricant that he’d brought with him. There is also the heat of Castiel’s arousal, which is steadily unfurling and ready for Dean’s inevitable bringing it to fever pitch. Dean can be counted on that, for sure.

“Uh, Cas,” Dean says breathlessly. “Do you, um. Condom?”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s okay, I don’t mind the clean-up.”

“Not just for that, I mean…” Dean clears his throat. “Wanted to be clear. I haven’t been, uh…”

Castiel cups the side of Dean’s face. “Thank you for telling me. And for the record – me, neither.”

Dean huffs softly. “I really need to get used to this ‘being frank’ thing of yours.”

Castiel is glad that Dean’s even trying at all, so he puts his gratitude into the next kiss he gives Dean. Technically there’s only so many ways their mouths can move together, but it’s still so _exciting_. Castiel wants to keep kissing Dean, and slip his tongue into his mouth and feel the rumble of Dean’s groan against his chest.

Also excellent are Dean’s fingers, slippery with lube where they now probe at Castiel’s entrance.

Castiel gasps against Dean’s mouth. One good thing about Dean still wearing his shirts is that Castiel can clutch it for support as he bears the breach of Dean’s fingers. The angle is a little strange so Castiel helps out, kicking off his pants and then wrapping a leg around Dean’s waist to lift himself up. Now his bare ass can rest on the edge of the desk behind him, and he can open his legs wider for Dean’s ministrations. Yes, much better.

“I was right,” Castiel whispers. “Completely different when it’s you.”

Dean grins and keeps pushing in, his fingers sheathed tight and welcome in Castiel’s body. “Awesome.”

Maybe it’s different because Castiel can’t tell what Dean’s going to do next, whether he’s going to rotate his fingers or pump gently or roll his knuckles against Castiel’s rim. Or maybe it’s different because this is a shared experience, and Castiel isn’t the only one getting something out of it. Dean’s breathing is labored, his eyes darker, his hips rolling suggestively in the open V of Castiel’s legs.

“Talk to me,” Castiel breathes. “Please.”

“You can’t get off without my voice now?” Dean delivers it like a joke, but there’s real hunger there as well. His fingers draw out, and he pets Castiel’s balls before slicking himself up with the rest of the lube. “That’s gonna be a problem.”

“No, it isn’t.” Both of them shift into position, Castiel with his hands hooked around Dean’s shoulders, and legs over Dean’s arms in being held open. Castiel takes a deep breath, and then tugs gently, signaling for Dean to come on.

Dean hisses when the head of his cock catches the muscle. “Ah, fuck. Breathe with me, Cas.”

Castiel breathes slowly and wills his body to relax to the intrusion. He vaguely remembers it being easier before, but maybe it’s because he’s impatient. He wants Dean in him _now_ , and his body isn’t obeying as efficiently as he wants it to.

It isn’t just that he has to get used to Dean’s size again. This angle is also a new one, focusing on different pressure points of Castiel’s body. Castiel carefully moves his hand from around Dean’s neck and reaches down, blindly feeling for Dean’s dick where it’s fitted at Castiel’s opening.

“ _Whoa_ nelly,” Dean yelps.

Their eyes are still locked while Castiel experimentally rubs his fingers over the lube-slick skin of Dean’s shaft. Castiel breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, and as his body gives way gently guides Dean’s shaft with his fingers, drawing it into the sheath of Castiel’s body.

“You know you’re gorgeous?” Dean says. He’s still moving as he talks, but only in slow hitches as he follows Castiel’s guiding fingers. “I know I don’t, uh… I don’t mention it much. At first it was ‘cause I didn’t want to make things awkward. But after, it was ‘cause I, uh… oh, geez.” He slides on home, hips resting flush against the cradle of Castiel’s thighs.

“Muh?” Castiel says.

Dean pants heavily. “Fuck.” After a beat he tosses his head back and shakes it rapidly. “What? Right, yeah. What was I saying? Yeah, _after_. After, I figured out that you don’t care about how people see you. Like, the hell it matters to you if someone thinks you’re hot? So it’s like, I wanna compliment you but that won’t be a compliment, you know?”

“Oh, _Dean_.” Castiel throws his arm back around Dean’s shoulder and digs his heels into Dean’s back. Dean has _studied_ him. Dean has cared enough to notice Castiel’s idiosyncrasies beyond the ones that are obvious.

“But you are totally hot, though,” Dean says.

“I know what that means now,” Castiel says. “I know what _you_ mean. Please fuck me. It’s fine.”

Things move quickly from there. Castiel is almost sorry for it, but it’s difficult to concentrate or draw things out when he’s being solidly fucked by the man he adores. The most Castiel can do is hold on and voice his resounding pleasure, hoping – no, _knowing –_ that his gasps and jumbled words are enough to help Dean achieve his own pleasure. Castiel has thrown himself into the moment. Castiel is letting himself be swept up into just _feeling_ this with Dean. No more thinking, no more rest of the world. Just them, together.

Anna’s desk under Castiel’s butt squeaks a protest when Dean’s thrusts gain momentum, but Castiel is too lost to care. Right here, right now, Castiel can see Dean and is seen by Dean, in ways they never have before. They are both _here,_ and truly bare to each other in the ways that count. It is too much. It is not enough.

“Yeah, good?” Dean says. The words are clipped, tight. Dean is so focused. “Right there?”

“Yes, please don’t stop.” Castiel grits his teeth and whines, he is so _close_. “That’s right, yes, like that, thank you, oh my please don’t stop, husband—”

Dean’s whole body jerks, the next thrust turning into a wonderful slam tight into Castiel’s body. Castiel makes a sound that’s half-laugh half-sob, and elsewhere there’s a faint ripping noise where Castiel’s fingers have pulled too tight at Dean’s shirt. A handful more of these strong snaps of Dean’s hips, coupled with the deliciously desperate sound Dean makes, and Castiel finally comes. It’s messy and glorious and wonderful.

In the aftermath, Castiel drags in deep gulps of air as he slowly recovers his breath. His back is starting to hurt, but it’s a good hurt. He doesn’t want Dean to stop.

“Dean.” Castiel mouths at his jaw and pets his hair, all restless movements as he coasts the high of his orgasm. “Dean, can I help? Can I do something?”

Dean snaps something that doesn’t like a word. Castiel takes that to mean that what he’s currently doing is fine, so Castiel rocks his body as well as he can from his limited position, accepting Dean’s thrusts until he gets there.

Castiel holds Dean through it, stroking his neck and shoulders as Dean shakes. Dean is sweating, dazed and beautiful in Castiel’s arms. For all the time they’ve known each other, there haven’t been that many simple, yet good moments. This is a simple, good moment. Castiel is grateful.

It takes a while for them to untangle their limbs. As soon as Castiel gets his feet back on the ground he wraps his arms around Dean’s torso, holding him. It feels insufficient to say thank you for that, but Castiel _is_ thankful for that. He is thankful for many things.

“You okay?” Dean asks hoarsely.

Castiel is thankful for that, too. He cups a hand behind Dean’s head and leans up to kiss his temple. “Yes. You?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Dean is still smiling goofily when Castiel starts pulling at his poor damaged plaid shirt, belatedly drawing it down his arms. Castiel’s bed hasn’t been put to use yet, and Castiel figures they could take advantage of the afterglow and indulge in some naked cuddling.

Except when Castiel starts to pull at Dean’s undershirt, Dean stops him, his hands stilling Castiel’s hands.

“Uh,” Dean says. “Kinda late for that, ain’t it?”

“No, it’s not too late.” Castiel frowns at Dean’s hesitant expression. “What now? What are you…”

Dean’s eyes go up to the ceiling, as though in resignation, and his hands fall away. Castiel pulls the undershirt up, revealing the broad off-white swathes of bandages, taped all round the left side of Dean’s ribs.

“Dean,” Castiel says angrily. “Why didn’t you say that you’re hurt?”

“Because I’m _not_.”

“Then what is this?” Castiel draws Dean’s undershirt up and off, and it goes easily now that Dean’s no longer resisting. The bandages are the main event, but there are bruises dotted along Dean’s torso as well, almost as the size of fists. “Dean.”

“See,” Dean says with an infuriating roll of his eyes. “This is why I didn’t want you to see.”

“Because you don’t want me to know that you’re hurt?” Castiel snaps.

“Oh come off it, Cas. You didn’t tell me about that hand of yours.”

“That injury is old. These are new, and I could have made them worse.”

“Cas, it’s _fine_.” Dean tries to kiss him, but Castiel turns his head away. “Dammit. I haven’t seen you in ages. I missed you so much it sucks like… It sucks majorly, okay. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again for what feels like forever, and I wanted it to be perfect. Is that so bad, Cas?”

At Dean’s exhausted explanation Castiel feels his anger slip away, almost too quickly. Castiel swallows and will his voice to be strong when he says, “Don’t make fun of my feelings.”

“I’m not!” Dean protests.

“Don’t.” Castiel cups Dean’s face and looks him in the eye. “Don’t belittle my concern for you, and don’t try to joke away my anger. Can you do that, Dean? Please?”

“But I’m not…” Dean trails off. A little smile quirks at the edge of his mouth, but it seems to Castiel’s eye more self-deprecating than not. “Yeah, good going,” he mutters to himself.

Castiel hugs Dean again. He winds his arms tighter this time, too, so that Dean understands that Castiel’s being angry at him doesn’t cancel out the depth of Castiel’s affection for him. The thing is, Castiel does understand what Dean wants here, and what he’d set out to do making this moment between them a good one. Castiel gets it, because he would have and has done the same before. After a beat, Dean moves his own arms, wrapping around Castiel in return.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, his mouth close to Dean’s ear, “there’s no such thing as perfect.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “But you’re perfect.”

“No,” Castiel says urgently. “If you expect perfect from me, or from _us_ , then you’re just going to be disappointed.” He leaves off what is obvious, namely that Castiel doesn’t want to disappoint him.

Dean is quiet. He nods a little, and the movement has him fitting his head against Castiel’s, snuggling in close. They stand like that for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sexual content** : Rimming, brief kink negotiation and reference to spanking.

Castiel is clearing up the bathroom when he hears the front door open. Not wanting to leave any misunderstandings, he immediately rushes out, saying, “Dean’s here” as soon as he sees Anna.

Anna just hangs her jacket next to Dean’s, and then jerks her thumb roughly in direction of where the Impala is parked. “I gathered.”

“How did you know that that’s his car?”

“Amazing workmanship on the badge,” Anna says. “Where is he?”

“Asleep,” Castiel says. “He’s exhausted.”

Anna gives him a look. “I see.”

“That’s not – _Anna_. He drove all the way here immediately after he got leave from Stanford.” When Dean said that he’d been running on fumes, he’d woefully understated things. The sex was wonderful, but as soon as Castiel led him to the bed, Dean took one look at it, lay down, and passed out. Castiel didn’t mind, because the view was wonderful.

“Uh-huh,” Anna says.

“It’s not,” Castiel insists.

Anna pats him on the arm as she passes by. “You’re so easy to tease.”

“I…” Castiel sighs. “I know.”

Anna seems unsurprised by Dean’s presence. When Castiel asks, she confirms that she’s heard about the latest breakthrough at Stanford, which she agrees is a good thing, yet she remains cautious about what this will mean for their people, both here and across the sea. It is now up to Ellen and her circle to come into a beneficial accord with Michael.

They continue discussing the topic after Anna’s freshened up and ready to prepare dinner. (Castiel may have learned some culinary skills recently but he’d rather not deal with the anxiety of Dean judging his cooking just yet. Tonight’s dinner is on Anna.) While Castiel contemplates Michael’s motives, Anna is more concerned on what this might mean for her friends. In particular, she is passionately vocal about her hopes that this will be no forced deportations. Castiel posits a theory that Michael may be too worried about what’s happening back in the kingdom to care too much about what happens to his people here. The King has been away from his kingdom for much longer than he’d planned.

“Then there’s you,” Anna says. “We’ll need to make new papers for you, since you’re staying.”

“You mean, papers that have my real name on them?” Castiel asks.

“You can pick a new name, if you like.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Castiel says. “I like ‘Castiel’.”

Dinner is about halfway done when Dean finally makes himself known. At least, Castiel assumes that it’s Dean who bumbles noisily into the kitchen but flees before Castiel and Anna can look up from the stove.

“The bathroom is the opposite of my room!” Castiel calls out.

From down the hallway there’s a muffled, “Thanks. Hey, Anna!”

“Back at you!” Anna yells back.

When Anna raises an eyebrow at Castiel, he says, “I left a change of clothes for him.”

Anna shakes her head and laughs. “You still surprise me.”

“ _I_ surprise you?” Castiel says. “What does Dean walking around naked have anything to do with me being surprising?”

“It’s not that exactly, it’s…” Anna turns her attention to the simmering pot. “I’m not always good at guessing what it takes to make you happy.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that an arranged marriage would make me happy, either.” Castiel shrugs. “Yet here we are.”

When Dean returns to the kitchen, his hair is damp and he’s wearing his jeans and the faded cotton shirt Castiel left out for him. The shirt is a little tight but Dean seems to be content with that, judging from the way he catches Castiel’s appreciative eye. But the smugness is for Castiel; Anna receives a sheepish, apologetic grin.

“Glad to have you with us,” Anna says. “You are staying tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be great, if you’re cool with it.” Dean draws up to Castiel’s side, his hand brushing the small of Castiel’s back. “I don’t want to mooch off of you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Anna says. “From what Castiel’s said, you need to take it easy for a while.”

“Man, that would be awesome,” Dean says wistfully. “I haven’t actually clocked out beyond the short-term, though. Victor – you remember Victor, Cas? He’s nearby, we got him set up in that hotel in the main square, what’s the name?”

“So you didn’t drive all this way alone,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It was one of the conditions of my being able to get out here so quick.”

“How was it?” Anna asks. “The highways?”

“It’ll take some time before they’re all open again,” Dean says. “First thing we’re waiting for is Ellen’s statement, then the next Council papers. That is, if she can get all them geezers to sit down and actually agree on something. But that’s for another day! What are you feeding me?”

“A local fusion delicacy,” Castiel says. “You’re not allowed to say anything bad about it, because it’ll hurt my sister’s feelings.”

“My brother speaks the truth,” Anna says.

Dinner is good. The three of them eat and chat and laugh at the dining table, while the radio plays faint music in the background. Anna seems to be finally warming up to Dean, and enjoys ribbing him and going along with his exaggerated tales. As for Dean, he seems more at ease at her table than he’d been almost the entire time Castiel was with him at the Turner estate. Castiel wonders if it’s the setting that’s key here – Anna is on her home turf, and Dean finds it a relief to be disconnected from the greater goings-on, even if for a little while.

Tonight, they can enjoy the simplicity of a family dinner, because that is what this is. Castiel can barely wrap his mind around it, not even when Anna laughs boisterously at one of Dean’s jokes, and Dean innocently runs his toes over Castiel’s foot under the table.

Also strange is listening to that night’s broadcast with Dean sitting at Castiel’s side. Anna graciously takes a chair while they use the couch, and that’s reason enough to sit with their thighs pressed close while the static of Anna’s radio gives way to “ _Hark! We are in, and a good evening to all._ ”

Even if Charlie’s voice wasn’t recognizable, Dean’s gleeful face makes it clear who is speaking for him tonight.

“ _But it’s good to remember that a break in the storm clouds doesn’t mean we know for sure that the storm’s passing. The town line may be open but movement is still restricted, and we have yet to get a statement from the Speaker. Em checked in St. Leb two hours ago, so the common assumption is that talks are later starting tonight, or tomorrow morning._ ”

Also a relief is Charlie’s report that they’re closing in on Lucifer. She can’t share the full details, but she encourages listeners to strengthen their wards and notify the authorities if any of them go off.

The situation is far from settled, but Castiel leans his body against Dean’s, and hopes.

 

* * *

 

 

In a way, Castiel regrets that he has but a paltry room to share with Dean tonight. Dean may not care about that, but Castiel cannot forget that he once had the resources to spoil Dean properly. In Joshua House they had beds large enough to roll around in, with thick sheets well-suited for snuggling and ancillary supplies all at the ready. Here, they need to navigate their elbows as they undress down to their shorts in the narrow room, and there’s only a simple mattress with aged sheets waiting for them. The mattress and sheets aren’t even Castiel’s to begin with.

Castiel tries to remind himself that none of that matters – it isn’t the _what_ , but the _who_. With the door locked and the light switched off, Dean’s only priority is Castiel. The opposite is true, but Castiel wishes he had more to give. Especially now, with Dean tired and having spent so much energy just to be with him.

“So,” Dean says, once they’ve made themselves as comfortable as they can underneath the shared blanket. “Want to fool around?”

“We could.” It should be ridiculous that they’re talking like this, their faces only a scant few inches apart as they look at each other. “Or we could talk. You’re still injured.”

Dean purses his lips, but he doesn’t protest when Castiel finds his hand under the blanket and draws it up for his scrutiny. Dean has already seen Castiel’s tattoo, so now Castiel wants to see his.

The room is dark, but once Castiel’s eyes adjust, he can make out the rectangle of clear skin inside the thick lines of ink. It is a perfect mirror of the patch on Castiel’s arm, except the skin feels rough to the touch, almost scarred.

“Burned,” Dean says. “Used the bottom of a silver flask.”

“Oh,” Castiel breathes. “That must have hurt.”

“Not as much as a freaking fork.”

“That’s different. I was running on adrenaline and anger.”

“I’m so sorry about that.” Dean says this in a low, wretched voice that has the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck standing up. “I’ve done plenty of shitty things, but that was – that wasn’t just shitty, that was _wrong_.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel says.

“Oh come on, if I had only—”

“Dean, I don’t care.” Castiel raises Dean’s wrist, just as far as is necessary for Castiel to kiss the patch of ink-free skin. “None of that matters in the long run.”

“No, no, you don’t get to say that.” Dean pulls his arm away and covers the patch with his other hand. “It wasn’t just what went down once we were out. I was lying to you almost the whole time we were on our honeymoon.”

“You don’t owe a stranger honesty,” Castiel says. “That was what I was to you, at the time.”

“But _you_ weren’t doing that. _You_ weren’t playing.”

Castiel sighs in frustration. “You know that many of my immediate cousins are lying, conniving butts. You could’ve been marrying any one of them, and if you had, caution and keeping your cards close to your chest would’ve been the _right thing to do_. You would have saved yourself, and your family.”

“You weren’t a stranger,” Dean says quietly. “I didn’t know you very well when we got hitched, but we weren’t _strangers_.”

“Fine,” Castiel snaps. “If you want to wallow in that, by all means, that’s your prerogative. I’ve said my piece – there’s nothing to forgive.”

“God, Cas.” Dean reaches out, touching Castiel’s face with restless fingers. “Can’t you hold a grudge for a little while?”

“Of course I can.” Castiel shuffles in closer, knocking his knees against Dean’s. “But not about this. I’d rather confirm for myself that you’re feeling better now.”

“Sure,” Dean scoffs, “’cause I’m the one who gave up my whole life for exile.”

Castiel scowls. “You need to let that go.”

“Yeah, well—” Whatever Dean’s about to say is cut off when Castiel digs his fingers into the fleshy handles of his thighs, prompting a startled eruption of laughter. Dean flails under the blankets, grinning as he reaches for Castiel in hideous revenge. Castiel yelps and then they’re off, making a spectacle of themselves in the dark.

This is all highly immature, Castiel knows. But what better time is there for this, when they are now taking their first steps together into the rest of their lives. Castiel needs to hone his skills in cooking, listening, home-making, making Dean laugh and laughing right there with him, et cetera.

Eventually it ends with Castiel sitting up, away from where Dean’s fingers are trying to pinch at him. Dean’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, a thin sheen of sweat visible over his bare chest.

“Don’t dwell,” Castiel says breathlessly. “Let’s focus our energies on making it better from now on. How about it?”

“I guess,” Dean says. “I mean, I… yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Castiel can tell from the way Dean’s eyes flicker down to his mouth that he’s considering kissing him. So Castiel goes for it first, leaning over Dean and kissing him through his muffled laugh.

Although sex tonight was optional, Castiel is prepared. He has a towel and lubricant, which he collects from his side bag and spreads out on the sheets, ready for deployment. “I’m going to suffer for this tomorrow,” Castiel says.

Dean hums dreamily. “Why? You’re not going in to work, are you?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because…” Dean makes a vague, petulant sound. “Because I’m… here… now.”

“Yes, everyone gets a holiday when Dean Winchester is around.”

Dean wrinkles his nose in annoyance, which is reason enough for Castiel to resume kissing him. His kisses are soft at first, and then deeper when Dean’s mouth goes slack and expectant. Dean tries to slide his hands behind Castiel’s neck but Castiel carefully guides them away, pressing them down against the mattress. Dean’s lips tremble at the move.

Since Dean had his way earlier, it’s only polite that Castiel get his own tonight. Castiel is conscious of the bandages on Dean’s body, and will only submit to sex if Dean not strain himself. Of course, if Castiel says this out loud Dean will stubbornly protest that he’s fine, so perhaps it’s best that Castiel take the initiative and reward Dean’s hard work with a relaxed pace.

This means thoroughly kissing Dean where he lies supine and spread out on the mattress. Kisses are to be on his mouth, his nose, his cheek, his neck, his collarbone. Then further down, following paths between the bruised skin and suckling on the slight roll of his stomach until Dean is incoherent.

Castiel likes it very much when Dean is incoherent.

That said, Dean’s seemingly forgotten that this is a small cottage, and a far cry from the indulgent Joshua House. Castiel pauses his ministrations and smacks the side of Dean’s butt, getting his attention.

“Dean,” Castiel says. “Anna might hear you.”

Dean blinks owlishly. After a beat, he smacks his dry lips together and clears his throat. “So if I make more noise, you’ll do that again?”

“Which one?” Castiel asks. “The nibbling or the admonishment?”

Dean lets out a light, near-hysterical laugh. “ _Admonishment_ ,” he echoes.

“I’d definitely do it if you asked,” Castiel says. “No noise required.”

Dean drops his head back on to the pillow, eyes lifted to the ceiling. His mouth is open as he breathes heavily, and Castiel takes the opportunity of Dean’s preoccupation with – whatever it is – to carefully tug Dean’s shorts off. Dean lifts his hips to help, accommodating the towel placed under him, and then turns his legs on to the side, one leg cocked up slightly. There’s just enough space on the mattress for Castiel to curve his body around Dean’s legs, and to rest his chin on the jut of Dean’s hipbone.

“Are you still thinking?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “’Cause I’m totally thinking ‘bout saying yes, except there’s no way I wanna be quiet for _that_.”

“Shall that wait for a better venue, then?”

Dean swallows. “Yeah, sounds good. Will be good. Awesome. Carry on.”

Castiel draws back a little, just enough that he can contemplate the generous curve of Dean’s ass. Castiel’s hand fits so nicely on the shapely flesh, too. There might even be freckles back here, most of them clustered near his tailbone. When Castiel touches that place curiously, Dean draws his leg up further, making it easier for Castiel to explore the crevice in between.

It occurs to Castiel that, in a way, they’re still in the midst of their honeymoon, and this is another part of their getting to know each other. Though Castiel is glad that they’ve arrived at this point by themselves, a part of him still wonders about what might have been. He doesn’t _wish_ for it, as though reality isn’t good enough (because it is), but he wonders, like a thought exercise.

If he and Dean wanted the marriage from the very beginning, and there was no secret agenda, then this could be one of their first curious nights together in the marriage bed. Dean is delighted to share his body with Castiel, and Castiel is diving head-first into lessons on the sensual vocabulary of his husband. Although Castiel is still anxious about his ability to please him, he is also enthralled.

Just _look_ at him. Castiel would be content just to admire Dean without touching him, sprawled out as he is, so unabashed and willing, chest heaving and erection ready despite not getting any attention. Dean may be loud and brash and cocky, but there is gentleness and patience everywhere about him, if one only bothers to stop and look.

Castiel exhales shakily, just barely holding back a disbelieving laugh. He tries to cover his temporary loss of focus by kissing the nearest body part, which happens to be the rise of Dean’s ass. That earns him a faint wail, which is alarming enough that Castiel immediately stops and lifts his head.

But Dean doesn’t look displeased. In fact, that is the opposite of displeased.

Castiel looks back down at his target. He hasn’t done this before, but he has some idea how this may be performed. Castiel carefully nudges a forefinger and thumb between the warm crevice of Dean’s cheeks, and spreads them as far as they can go. Castiel starts to lower his head, pauses to check with Dean, and upon seeing the sheer wide-eyed hopefulness in Dean’s eyes, makes his decision.

As soon as Castiel swipes his tongue over Dean’s opening, he learns that this may be an error. If the goal was to keep the noise down, this does not help in the slightest, for there is approximately zero chance that Anna didn’t hear Dean’s howl, unless she has her ears plugged. Castiel hopes she has her ears plugged.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean whispers. “Zipping now. Promise.”

Castiel takes a moment to scowl at Dean, making it clear that he expects him to keep to that promise, and then lowers his head again.

Dean is practically shaking from expectation, and his whole body seizes up when Castiel’s tongue finds its target again. There’s no way to tell if Dean’s stiffness is from pleasure or his straining not to react, but at least he’s quiet, and Castiel can lavish his tongue as thoroughly as he is able over his perineum and up over the furled opening. Dean is even helpful and reaches down, clasping his butt cheeks with his hands to spread them further for Castiel’s access.

The major downside to eating Dean out like this is that Castiel cannot gauge his reaction properly. Dean is working so hard to stay quiet and still, so Castiel has to strain for clues on how well he’s doing. Perhaps that is a clue in itself – Dean wants this so badly that he’s forcing himself to be as obedient as he can, despite his obvious desire to yell and shout and flail. Castiel is just thankful that Dean kicks the air, not his chest, when Castiel experimentally fits his mouth to Dean’s hole.

“Ah fuck,” Dean grunts, and then there’s a tell-tale full-body shudder.

Castiel carefully swipes his tongue over Dean’s opening one more time – earning another whimper – and then raises his head to observe the view. Sure enough, Dean’s gone and spilled himself, most of it landing on the towel but drops of semen reaching as high as his pecs.

“Congratulations,” Castiel says.

Dean makes a garbled sound, coughs, and then tries again: “I’m just very, very easy when it comes to you.”

Castiel makes a face. “Could you at least try to appeal to my ego?”

“Dude.” Dean smirks. “I just said. When it comes to _you_.”

“So I could have been doing that really badly, but you still got off?”

“You dick!” Dean laughs. “I know you know what I mean. For crying out loud, just get in me already, okay?”

Preparation is quick since Dean has already had his orgasm. Soon enough Castiel is holding his breath and pressing into Dean’s slick, tight heat and trying to keep it together. The happy sounds Dean’s making are not helping either, because it makes Castiel just want to bury himself to the hilt, though he knows if he does that, it’ll be over in two seconds flat.

“Well, look at you.” Dean is clearly wrung out from his orgasm, yet he still manages to sound chirpy. “Getting right on in there like you own the place.”

“You’re terrible,” Castiel grumbles.

“Nah, I’m only terrible when I do this.” And Dean _squeezes_ , making Castiel gasp helplessly. Dean wags his eyebrows. “Huh, guess I _am_ terrible.”

Castiel will not be distracted. He will hold Dean’s thighs open and work between them on his own pace, thank you. Dean can whine and arch his back and make rude jokes all he wants; Castiel is going take his time claiming his pleasure with Dean’s body.

It’s hard to forget that the last time Castiel sheathed himself inside Dean, he’d just realized the depths of his feelings for this man. Not only that, but he’d assumed at the time that there was no way Dean could reciprocate those feelings. So although he’d found physical pleasure at the time, it had been hollow. It is so different now, tonight, when Castiel is full in ways he never knew he could be.

The best thing Castiel can do is show Dean how this has changed how they can be together. So Castiel holds his head up high as he thrusts into Dean, for this way Dean has a clear view of Castiel’s pleasure. There is no shame this time, not when Castiel wants Dean to see everything – every gasp, every sigh, every contortion of his face as he drives into Dean’s luxurious heat.

“Oh geez,” Dean says quietly.

It’s a bonus when Dean gets hard again. Next time Castiel will manage that on purpose, but for now he’ll relish the surprise.

“Touch yourself,” Castiel says. He has to pause to center himself when Dean immediately obliges, stroking his shaft firmly. “I suppose this is what you feel like all the time.”

Dean can’t seem to focus his gaze on Castiel very well, but he tries. “What?”

“How pleased you so often are with yourself.” Castiel adjusts his hold on Dean’s hips, shifting it just so that he can get deeper with each snap of his hips. When Dean shudders deliciously, Castiel has his confirmation. “Yes, good.”

A few more thrusts and Castiel thinks his chatter might no longer be useful, since Dean seems to be... disengaged. If Castiel is throwing himself into the moment, Dean has done the same and then some, lips parted and head tipped back as he gasps for breath.

“Shh,” Castiel says, when Dean lets loose a rattling groan. “Dean, you’re supposed to—”

“ _God_ , just keep going,” Dean whimpers. “Keep going, keep going.”

Castiel quickly checks which one of his hands is clean, and uses that to cover Dean’s mouth. As his palm touches Dean’s lips Castiel realizes that this might be impolite, but Dean’s eyes flutter shut at the touch and he _moans_. Castiel takes that as permission to tighten his grip, sealing his hand firmly around Dean’s mouth and jaw, and Dean’s whole body shudders in response.

Well then, if Castiel needs to fuck Dean like this, then he shall fuck Dean like this. Castiel keeps his thrusts strong and hard, each one earning a muffled whimper out of Dean.

As Castiel recovers his rhythm, Dean’s hand – the one not pulling on his dick – scrabbles upward to grip at Castiel’s forearm. At first Castiel thinks Dean’s asking Castiel to release his mouth, but no, Dean seems to just want to cling onto Castiel’s arm, like an anchor. This small gesture more than all the others drives home Dean’s desperation, and that – that is _exhilarating_.

Castiel doesn’t slow down nor release his grip, not even when Dean comes. Castiel’s hand muffles Dean’s shout, and Castiel’s arm bears Dean’s frantic squeezing through his release. There is slight pain here, but it is a good pain like the ache in Castiel’s thighs from keeping this pace, and it merely sharpens the pleasure of the moment. Castiel imagines that Dean is the same – he must feel so raw by now, wrung out from two orgasms, and this is confirmed when Dean’s grunts give way to sobs.

There is no resisting this. Dean’s need for Castiel is a fucking rush, and as heady as any liquor or charm. Castiel is just grateful that he got Dean over the edge before he’s distracted by his own orgasm. The pleasure of it strikes scorching hot – Dean is the furnace, Castiel is the piece being remade, all those good things. Castiel drives in hard a few more times, his hips tight against Dean’s body until there is nothing left to chase.

For a long moment the room is filled only with the sounds of their breaths.

Castiel removes his hand from Dean’s mouth, but Dean tightens his grip on his forearm before Castiel can pull away. As Castiel watches, Dean draws Castiel’s hand back up so that Dean can kiss Castiel’s knuckles. His kisses are tender, just like how his eyes are tender when they open to meet Castiel’s.

“What’s that thing you say?” Dean says, voice hoarse. “Oh, right. Thank you.”

Castiel laughs, and that earns him another of Dean’s wonderful – if exhausted – grins. “You’re very welcome.”

They untangle themselves carefully, and Dean groans as stretches in relief. “Do you really need to go in to work tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “And you have things to do as well, with your friend Victor.”

“Heh heh.” Dean crosses his arms behind his head and grins up at the ceiling. “Maybe I should just let him hang out there by himself. The peace and quiet should do him some good.”

“Or you can get updated,” Castiel says. “Find out what’s happening with Ellen. And at the end of the day, we’ll both have something to look forward to.”

“Yeah?” Dean sighs heavily, happily. “Yeah, sounds peachy.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next day of work at the Gas-n-Sip should be like any other day (aside from the knowledge that Dean is somewhere in the same town), but it is not.

There are too many customers.

Any other day, Castiel would be pleased on Nora’s behalf because good business is good business, but there’s been no striking change in the inventory that could explain the sudden rush. Well, it’s not a _rush_ per se – there’s only a handful of people browsing the shelves intensely, and one woman in particular has been studying the same cereal box for the last ten minutes. Yet this is not the norm.

A man comes up to the cashier, coughs faintly, and asks for cigarettes. Castiel serves him, takes his payment and watches him shuffle off. The line behind him, although only a few people deep, has been almost continuously replenished since ten o’clock.

Castiel glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall, confirming that they’re near the lunch hour.

The next customer is a regular. Castiel’s seen her talk to Nora a handful of times, so he assumes they must be friends.

“Busy day today, eh,” she says.

Castiel nods, and starts keying in her groceries. As the types, he is acutely aware of her studying him. She isn’t _staring_ , precisely, because she is at least blinking normally, but there is no mistaking the directness of her gaze.

Frustrated, Castiel succumbs to his petty instincts and lifts his eyes to brazenly meet hers.

The customer jumps and makes a small noise of surprise. Castiel is tempted to tell her off, but is stopped by Nora’s sudden arrival with, “Hey, Lorraine, I wasn’t expecting to see you in today!” at his side.

Castiel ducks his head, deferring to Nora’s lead. Her hand is warm where it brushes comfortingly over Castiel’s arm, as though to say – _hey, I got this_ – before gently nudging Castiel away from the counter. “Check what needs restocking,” she whispers.

Yes, Castiel can do that. He slips away from the counter, happy to do his boss’ bidding.

Restocking may remove the protection of the counter, but it gives him newfound mobility and allows him to detour from people who look like they may be on the verge of asking about something that is not the price nor availability of a product. Castiel is able to duck away whenever anyone gets too close, and the only person who does get too close is a young man who shimmies awkwardly to where Castiel is arranging boxes and starts babbling about the price of gas, but he doesn’t get very far when faced with Castiel’s bewildered disinterest.

Honestly, it’s a relief when Dean’s sleek black car rolls into the station.

It’s a surprise, because when Castiel left this morning Dean was only awake enough to demand a goodbye kiss before conking out again; he’d said nothing about coming by. Yet it is still a blessing, and Castiel catches Nora’s eye desperately, exhaling with relief when she nods.

When Dean steps out of his car and approaches the store, a ripple of awareness passes through the store’s onlookers. One customer even covers her smiling mouth in surprise, eyes darting between Castiel and Dean’s approaching form. (Castiel thinks that Dean could get a reaction like that even if he wasn’t famous, but Castiel is helplessly biased.) It is time for Castiel to move.

Castiel practically bowls into Dean in the doorway, hooking his hands around Dean’s arms just as Dean’s saying, “Hey, I thought we could—”

“Lunch break,” Castiel says, dragging Dean back out the door.

“Whoa, you read my mind,” Dean says, way too cheerfully. “You wanna take a drive or—”

“Yes, please, _yes_.”

“Geez, Cas, you’re not this excited when I’m playing with your—”

“ _Dean_.”

They don’t go very far in the Impala – Castiel still has to return to work soon, after all. They go just down the road and off into a secluded area between the trees as per Castiel’s clipped instructions, and then Castiel is stepping out of the car and taking deep breaths of fresh air. Dean joins him out there, carrying a pair of paper bags that he starts unpacking onto the hood of his car.

“What’s up?” Dean says.

“There were too many people at the store,” Castiel says. “It seems that word is out that I am… who I am.”

Dean pauses his unpacking and reaches over to squeeze Castiel’s arm. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Castiel can already feel his head clearing now that he’s removed from that setting. “I was going to do this anyway. I just… wished to be prepared for it first.”

“That’s my fault.” Dean plucks out a something small and brightly-colored from his bag, and holds it out for Castiel. “Have an offering from the penitent one.”

“What? Oh.” Castiel parts his lips, letting Dean slip the piece of candy into his mouth. The burst of sweetness on his tongue is perfectly complimented by Dean’s hopeful grin. “Excellent choice of appetizer.”

“Only the best.” Dean’s apparently packed a full lunch for both of them, consisting of monstrous sandwiches that require a small forest of toothpick scaffolding to keep together. He’s used Anna’s storage containers but the food is recognizably his, and Castiel’s day has just become 100% better.

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “Though I fear the consequences of your raiding Anna’s fridge.”

“Hey, I’m no leech, I got my own stuff,” Dean says defensively. “That market you got down in the square is pretty sweet.”

They lean against the Impala while they eat, Castiel pausing between bites to describe what his morning has been like. Dean is sympathetic and thoughtful, though he laughs when Castiel describes the way everyone in the store perked up at Dean’s arrival.

“Man, what they gotta be thinking about me and you now,” Dean says with a laugh.

Castiel scowls at him. “This isn’t like the Turner estate, Dean. That was your territory, this is not. In fact, I still remember the time you used to hate being put on display.”

“This isn’t a display, Cas.” Dean knocks his elbow gently against Castiel’s. “This is fucking hilarious, is what it is. They’re busy looking at us and thinking that we’re crazy about each other, and guess what? We _are_.”

Castiel scowls at his sandwich. “That’s true.”

“Your brain’s just hurting ‘cause you’ve only ever been Steve the whole time you’ve been here,” Dean says. “And now you’re Cas.”

“I wish I were more like you,” Castiel says.

Dean chokes. “What now?”

“You know how to put people at ease. I tend to do the opposite.”

“Who says you need to put people at ease, though?” Dean shrugs. “Seems to me you’ve been fine doing your own thing here. You don’t owe anyone anything. Not anymore.”

Castiel is warmed by sentiment, but is compelled to add, “That’s easy to say, but in practice… I just need tips for interacting with your people.”

Dean laughs. “They’re more _your_ people than mine, Cas. I’ve never been in this town before.”

Now that is a jarring thought. Castiel has to roll it over in his head for a while, admiring the astute truth of Dean’s observation. At Turner’s, the delineation had been clear – the locals were Dean’s, the foreigners were Castiel’s – but those rules aren’t as directly applicable here. It’s true that Castiel hasn’t made much effort to get to know the people of Rexford, but he knows Nora, he can recognize the regulars that pass through the Gas-n-Sip, he knows the librarian, the agents at the post office, the handful of rotating sellers as the marketplace.

Castiel has found a measure of comfort in the quiet of this place, and knows that he would be pretty damn pissed if something happened to it. Perhaps that is enough to make it _his_ , in a way. Not in the way that this place is Anna’s, but… a low-level comparison.

It’s a nice feeling.

“You are very necessary,” Castiel says. When Dean just looks confused, he adds, “I’ll be needing much more help from you in seeing things from a different point of view. So you are very necessary to me.”

“Gosh, Cas.” Dean is amused, though. “You sweet-talker, you.”

Castiel dives into the rest of his sandwich in contentment.

 

* * *

 

 

When Castiel returns to the Gas-n-Sip, he is better prepared. Sometimes all he needs is a moment to brace himself, and there’s also the fact that Dean can make for an effective motivational speaker.

So Castiel keeps his head up when he passes through the back door, through the staff area and out to the counter. Nora nods when she sees him, and is surprised when he says that he’s fine with minding the counter again.

“Are you sure?” Nora asks, keeping her voice down. There isn’t a queue anymore, but there are a few customers hovering nearby that suggest that that may change. “It’s fine if you want to do something else.”

“I was just surprised, that’s all,” Castiel says. “I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”

Nora hesitates for a moment, but then adds, “I know most of these people. Heck, _you_ know a lot of them.”

“That has recently occurred to me, yes,” Castiel says.

Near the counter, an elderly gentleman who’s browsing the candy rack pipes up with a loud, “Someone harassing your staff, Nora? We’ll get ‘em.”

“Relax, Tom,” Nora says with a laugh. “Let me help you out there.”

As Castiel settles behind the counter, he accidentally makes eye contact with another customer, a young man that Castiel has seen around here a handful of times, mostly at night for emergency grocery runs. Instead of turning away, the customer smiles at Castiel self-consciously, as though embarrassed yet aware of what he and his fellow townsfolk are doing. Castiel would venture a guess that this customer never looked at Castiel properly before, but would like to do so now. To be curious is to be human. Castiel is a novelty, and novelties wear out when they become normal.

If Castiel is to make a new life for himself _as_ himself, whether in this town or anywhere else, he will have to get used to this. Not just for Dean’s sake, but for his own as well. Castiel cannot be a recluse forever.

So it is time to go back to what Castiel used to do well: direct gazes and blunt answers. Nora’s customers are allowed to satisfy their curiosities, and Castiel will be patient until it passes.

Now that he’s is no longer on edge, Castiel is able to appreciate that the people passing through the Gas-n-Sip are only just… looking. Most of the people that shuffle in and out of the store – and they do increase as evening rolls in – seem to only want to _be_ there. Some even smile at Castiel, like that earlier customer, or make small talk, like yesterday’s schoolchildren. It’s not all that different from Nora’s casual interactions with her customers, and though there’s curiosity there, for the most part there is kindness as well.

It’s only during the last hour of Castiel’s shift that someone actually tries to confront him directly. This one’s a young woman with dark hair, and as she pays for her magazines and beer, she asks, “Are you really… him?”

“You’ll need to be more specific than that,” Castiel says. “Six fifty, please.”

The customer rummages through her jacket pockets, eventually coming up with crumpled notes. “I was referring to the one occasionally called Prince Charming. Castiel. I’ve been told that’s how it’s pronounced.”

“That’s correct,” Castiel says. “To both the pronunciation and the identity.”

She glances meaningfully at his nametag. “Then who’s ‘Steve’?”

“Also myself,” Castiel says.

She nods, seeming to find this a satisfactory answer. “Cool. Nice to meet you, Charming.”

“No, that’s not…” Castiel sighs, shakes his head, and passes over her plastic bag of purchases. “Thank you, have a good day.”

Nora comes by to check on him when he’s gathering his things from the back room. Castiel apologizes for the oddness of the day, and for not warning her that something like this might happen with his returning to the job, but she waves it off.

“It’s not like I didn’t see it coming,” Nora says. “You did put on a show yesterday with that man of yours, and word travels fast in these parts.”

“It does,” Castiel says. “I don’t want to cause trouble for the store, if anything happens.”

“Such as?”

“Such as your hiring something with false papers.” Castiel makes a face when Nora laughs. “Isn’t that an offense?”

“It can be,” Nora says. “But you do know how our little patch of mountain thrives despite being in the middle of nowhere, right? Can’t throw an apple without hitting someone who didn’t come here to make something new for themselves. That’s why Anna settled here, isn’t it?”

“And why you did, as well,” Castiel says, remembering.

“In a way, I’m not all that surprised you ended up here,” Nora says. “I’ll wager plenty others feel the same. Rexford just has that vibe about it.”

“You’ve hired many people with questionable papers, I’m guessing?”

Nora shrugs coyly. “Trade secret. Now go, I think your husband’s here.”

“How can you…” Just then Castiel catches the distinct engine rumble, audible through layers of the store’s plaster wall. “Ah. Well.”

“Do let me know if there’s any news about the highways,” Nora says. “Dang TV still mum ‘bout what’s happening up north.”

“Ah, so now I’m part of your ‘network’,” Castiel says. “Very well, I will see to it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Apparently, Dean has plans tonight.

Instead of heading back to the cottage, Dean asks if Castiel would be interested in having dinner in town with Victor and Anna. Castiel confesses that in all the months he’s been here he’s only ever gone into town to shop or obtain research from the library, which Dean declares is a cryin’ shame.

So out to dinner they shall go, to one of the restaurants in the town’s central cluster, just down the row from the post office (so goes Anna’s instructions on how to find it). Dean parks just outside the central ring of buildings, in a lot behind the supermarket, and then they walk together up the cobblestone pathways to the town hub.

“Anna let me hang out at her workshop for a while earlier,” Dean says. “So I got a decent feel for the place, I think. That your library over there?”

“Yes, it’s quite impressive, considering the size of the town.” Castiel glances at Dean a few times as they walk, his thoughts racing, their elbows brushing. Ugh, to hell with it. Castiel reaches over for Dean’s hand and threads their fingers together. “All right?”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, cool.”

Castiel beams at him. They swing their hands a little as they move, but it doesn’t feel as childish as Castiel thought it would be.

“Uh, you know…” Dean coughs. “Last night was pretty good.”

“I’m getting better at it, aren’t I?” Castiel says. “I will have to plateau eventually, but for now I’ll do my best to improve.”

“No, that’s…” Dean shakes his head, almost laughing. “Okay, yeah, you’re getting damn good, go you. But that’s not what I was, uh… it was good, but it was also… Shit, I don’t know how to say this.”

“Take your time.”

“No, if I take my time then I’ll forget, or convince myself there’s no point in saying anything.” Dean takes a deep breath. “What I wanted to say was, it was good in a way that doesn’t happen to me a lot. You always say things like, I’m more experienced than you or whatever, but _that_ , last night, I don’t let that happen a lot.”

Castiel frowns. “The thing I did with my tongue?”

“Yes. I mean, sort of, but not only. Argh.”

If Dean can get better at reading Castiel, then Castiel can better at reading Dean. It seems that Dean’s talking about the act, but not just the act. Castiel thinks back to what he saw on Dean’s face – the hopefulness and desperation and occasional surprise – and tries to overlay that with what else he knows of Dean.

“Do you mean letting someone else take the reins?” Castiel asks.

“It’s that, but also the rest of it on top.” Dean groans. “I am so bad at this.”

There’s something else inside all of this. Dean can be demanding, but often his demands tie in to what he wants for other people over what he what he wants for himself. It is easier to give in to the needs of others than his own, and perhaps that is relevant to more than just Dean’s familial and national duties.

“You once told me that one of the things you like about me is how I don’t judge your quirks,” Castiel says. “So does that… help you let go?”

Dean blinks rapidly. “ _Yes._ Yes, that’s it.”

“All right.” Castiel smiles. “That’s a useful point.”

“I just, um. I figured that you might want to know what a big deal that is for me. To let go like that.”

“That takes trust.” Castiel feels very proud, and not just of himself. “I am honored, and deeply grateful that you’d share that with me. We can work on that some more, if you like.”

“Yeah?” Dean says weakly. “Okay.”

“This is nice,” Castiel says earnestly. “I’m learning things about you.”

“Cool,” Dean says. “I’m uh… I’m glad you’re interested.”

“Always, Dean.”

It’s still early when they get to the restaurant, so they’re able to get the booth in the far corner. It’s a cozy establishment, dimly lit and with wood paneling on the floor and walls. Landscape paintings adorn the wall, and the server that shows them to the booth happily elaborates that the paintings were done by the owner’s great-grandmother, way back during the town’s founding.

“You guys are connected with the hotel upstairs, right?” Dean asks, once they’ve been seated, both of them on one side of the table. “I got a friend that’s supposed to join us.”

“Mr. Henriksen, yes,” the server says. “I’ll show him to your table once he’s here. Shall I get you some drinks?”

Once their initial orders are made, Dean watches their server walk off in amusement. “Of course they know who Victor is. Dude can’t saunter into a damn town without making sure everyone knows not to mess with him.”

“That sounds ominous,” Castiel says.

“Wait ‘til he makes Constable of the Seal,” Dean says. “Might even become Speaker one day. Heh, I would pay good money to see those old farts deal with that.”

There is plenty of space on their side of the booth, but Castiel shimmies closer to Dean’s side anyway, close enough to pluck at the hem of Dean’s jacket. “So you have an important, experienced county officer babysitting you.”

“He’s not _that_ experienced,” Dean says. “What?”

“I want to make out,” Castiel says.

“You don’t want to check out the menu first?”

“No, I want to make out.”

Dean’s doesn’t ask for Castiel’s reasons, nor does he play it as though it’s an inexplicable request. Dean simply rolls with Castiel’s request, accepting it with unforced casualness that makes Castiel’s heart sing. Dean turns in the seat and slides one arm over Castiel’s shoulders, drawing him into wonderful warmth as Castiel tilts his head.

The first brush of their mouths has Castiel sighing in contentment. Truth be told, Castiel doesn’t need a reason for this. He just wants to kiss Dean, because kissing Dean is wonderful. Perhaps Dean understands, because he follows Castiel’s unhurried pace, their lips sliding lazily together and with just a hint of tongue in between.

The brush of Dean’s fingers on Castiel’s jaw reminds Castiel that there are other sensory elements here as well. Dean likes to touch Castiel’s face and hair, so Castiel tries it himself, running a thumb along the underside of Dean’s stubbly jaw. The sensation is… interesting, so much so that Castiel lets his fingertips linger over that space, at and one point drags Dean’s lower lip down before kissing it with focus.

Often this kind of things leads to heavier petting, but Castiel thinks he very much enjoys kissing just for the sake of kissing. Sometimes it’s a pity when they get distracted with sex, because this is nice as well.

Castiel is disappointed and bewildered when Dean suddenly draws back. Castiel blinks dazedly, a question at the ready, until he notices that Dean’s turning his head.

“You’re late,” Dean says.

Castiel follows his gaze to the other side of the booth, and then up, to where Victor is standing in front of the table with what looks like a flagon of beer.

“You should know,” Victor says dryly, “that I came in, came up to the table, went to get a drink from the bar, came _back_ to the table, and you still weren’t done.”

Dean shrugs happily. “Newlyweds, Vic. It happens.”

Victor slides into his side of the booth. “So I’ve heard.” He nods a greeting. “Castiel.”

“Victor,” Castiel says. Dean hasn’t moved his arm from around Castiel’s shoulder, so Castiel stays where he is, snuggled close to Dean’s side. “How are you finding Rexford?”

“My doctor said I needed to get some country air,” Victor says. “I’ll take this as my quota for the year.”

“Atta boy,” Dean says.

Anna jogs up to the table just then, a little out of breath and holding her bag tight to her side. “Ah, sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

Victor scoots over to give her room. “You certainly did. Lucky you.”

Anna sits down with a bewildered, “What?” while Victor chuckles.

“You’ve met?” Castiel says in surprise. “When did this happen?”

“I told you I was at Anna’s workshop, right?” Dean says. “Brought Victor over.”

Anna gives Castiel a kind look. “Don’t worry, we didn’t talk about you _that_ much.”

Castiel makes a face. “That wasn’t what I was worrying about.”

Victor clears his throat. “Okay, so I get that this was supposed to be a social gathering—”

“Also, food,” Dean says.

“—but I just got a wire from the point. It’s a doozy, and y’all are already sitting down.” Victor double-checks that everyone is paying attention. Castiel doesn’t know Victor very well, but Dean’s sudden quietness is telling. “Ellen made her statement at 4. They’ve just come out of another round of talks with Michael.”

“Oh,” Anna says in surprise. “Did they say when the highways are opening again?”

“Yes, but I think you’d want to know one of Michael’s terms, first.” Victor seems to be a man who prefers directness, though there is no unkindness in the way he meets Castiel’s gaze. “He wants Castiel handed over to him.”

“Fuck that,” Dean says immediately.

“Dean,” Castiel chides. “Is there anything else?”

“That’s the gist of it,” Victor says. “Michael’s willing to pack up and go home ASAP, but he wants you with him when that happens.”

Dean makes an irritated sound. “I thought the terms were all settled before the Stanford sitch broke. Ellen would never have agreed to something that shitty.”

Victor looks skeptical. “We don’t know that. All we do know is that Ellen’s priority is getting all these rabble rousers out.”

Anna says worriedly, “Does Ellen know that he’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I had to get her leave to come here. She knows.”

“And it’s why I got the message,” Victor says. “I’ve been asked to escort him up to the city.”

“Ha!” Dean exclaims.

“Is it just me?” Castiel asks. “Are there any other outrageous requests?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas,” Dean snaps. “You’re not actually considering this? ‘Cause, you know, the whole sacrificial lamb look is totally not you.”

“Thank you, Dean, your opinion is duly noted,” Castiel says dryly. “For your information, no, I do not want to go, and yes, I know that whatever Michael has planned for me would be wholeheartedly disappointing in comparison to the life I would like to make here with you.”

Dean shuts up, but he stubbornly tightens his grip around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel retaliates by pointedly taking Dean’s other hand and winding their fingers together. Victor and Anna are kind enough not to comment on this.

“Can you find out if there are any other outrageous requests?” Castiel asks. “Because then I need not be the point of contention.”

“I can do that,” Victor says.

“Why does he even care?” Anna says angrily. “It’s been months, and you weren’t even part of the fighting.”

“Maybe he’s upset that he didn’t get Lucifer,” Castiel says. “So he’s decided to go for the consolation prize.”

“Or,” Victor says thoughtfully, “maybe he doesn’t want _you_ at all, but is just using you as an excuse to hang around, because he knows Dean won’t give you up without a fight.”

“Although that does sound like something Michael would do,” Castiel says, “Michael can’t know about me and Dean. All he knows is that we parted ways months ago.”

Victor turns to Dean in surprise. “You didn’t tell him about the photos?”

“What photos?” Castiel says.

“Charlie’s photos,” Dean groans. “That one’s totally not my fault! They got out somehow, I don’t know, someone in camp thought they were cute or whatever so they ended up in some newspaper.”

“A newsletter,” Victor says. “It’s one of the map crew’s side projects. They’ve been doing this limited newsletter to boost morale the along the line. Simple black-and-white single-page print, nothing fancy. It’s all lighter soundbites – human interest stories, reunion successes, that sort of thing – none of the heavy current event stuff. We tracked it down, the kid didn’t know the pictures were meant to be private.”

Castiel frowns. “Doesn’t that out your identity as the radio Handyman?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m already in the crapper with the Council, this doesn’t change much.”

“So yes,” Victor says, “it’s possible that Michael’s seen it, if he’s still soaking up intel from every quarter.”

“But you just said that it’s limited distribution,” Castiel says.

“It _was_ ,” Victor says. “Copier machines exist.”

“Not my fault,” Dean says quickly. “Charlie tried to stop it when she found out but, you know, we had bigger things to worry about. I completely forgot about it until we were on the way here, and some old lady at a gas station had a copy and asked for my autograph.”

“Should’ve seen Dean’s face,” Victor says. “I asked her where she got it from, she said they were giving them away at their town shelter.”

“But,” Castiel says in dismay, “that takes _resources_.”

“It’s a fucking romantic story,” Victor says flatly. “Times like these, people like reading about the fucking romantic. Go figure.”

Castiel sighs. “So yet again, I may have pissed Michael off without even knowing about it.”

“You could write a dang thesis about this,” Anna says in amazement. “People just respond to you guys.”

“Not to _us_ ,” Castiel says. “To the _story_ of us, which isn’t necessarily us as human beings, though I understand its importance. People want to know that good things happen in this world, because then it means that good things can happen to them and the people that they care about. Otherwise, what’s the point? I’m hungry now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, sitting up and reaching for the menu placard. “Shit might be going down but we still gotta refuel.”

“Such a way with words,” Victor says.

“Doesn’t he?” Castiel says.

Anna flips a menu open. “Yeah, I can think better with something warm in my stomach.”

As they browse the menus and give the heavy topic of the night some breathing room, Dean leans over a little and presses a kiss to Castiel’s temple. “I hate it when you’re so calm. Makes me wanna go nuts just to compensate.”

“I’m not alone this time,” Castiel replies. “We’ll figure something out.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

There are things to deal with later, but that is later. In the early morning of Anna’s cottage, Castiel can barely remember Michael’s command, for he is too enamored of his current situation, i.e. that he is tucked in the same bed with a sleeping Dean.

Castiel woke up a little earlier than necessary, but this way he gets to enjoy Dean’s sleeping form, the utter relaxation on his face. Castiel’s hand, resting on Dean’s chest, rises and falls as Dean breathes.

It is warm and pleasing under the blanket, and Castiel doesn’t want to move.

Castiel knows that he is prone to overthinking things, so times like this – when his mind is quiet – are rare. He is just here, curled up next to Dean on a cheap bed, watching his husband rest.

After a while, Castiel registers that his back hurts. This bed is simply not big enough for the two of them, not even with Dean’s insistence that he can take the corner at the wall owing to his being used to sleeping in cramp places. Castiel regretfully pulls away, his muscles singing with relief when he stretches.

Dean stirs, muttering softly in his sleep. Castiel quickly turns back to look, not wanting to miss the way Dean opens his eyes, small flutters of his eyelids at first, and then squinting awareness. Dean huffs, smacks his lips, and raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, I have to get up,” Castiel says quietly. Dean makes a face.

Castiel leans in, carefully pushing the blanket out of the way so that he can kiss Dean’s neck. He’d left faint hickeys there last night, and they make for a useful path for Castiel to now follow with his morning kisses.

Dean sighs. “For serious, though, leave the exit plan to me, okay?”

Castiel stiffens, and then petulantly tucks his face in the nook of Dean’s neck. Of course Dean’s already thinking about Michael’s command despite having only just woken up. As Dean pats Castiel’s shoulder comfortingly, the various plans and points and possibilities brought up in last night’s discussion cascade back into Castiel’s mind.

“You mad at me?” Dean asks.

“I was going to offer you a blowjob, but the moment is gone.”

Dean chuckles. “At least you’re not mad at me.”

Castiel props himself up so he can glare at Dean. “There are a great many options aside from my being angry at you.”

“Such as you being mildly irritated at me.”

“Or helplessly enamored of you,” Castiel says. Dean blinks rapidly, still unused to that, so Castiel drops a quick kiss to Dean’s collarbone before sitting up. “Which I am, by the way. Very much.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell. Kidding!” Dean laughs, arm looping in the air until he grabs Castiel around his torso, pulling him back onto the mattress. Castiel lands with a faint _oof_ , and then Dean’s throwing a leg over him and squeezing, apparently intent on some hardcore snuggling the morning. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“I’m glad.” Castiel lets himself stay there for a moment longer, enjoying Dean’s nuzzling at the back of his neck. “I still need to go to work.”

“I didn’t hear you say you were gonna let me handle the exit plan.”

“I will let you handle the exit plan.”

“’Cause I’m gonna help you on this, no matter what.”

“Because you will help me on this, no matter what.”

“That’s my Cas.”

Dean’s apprehension is understandable, and it is nice to have other people watching his back, but Castiel dislikes the conclusion they’d reached last night, which is that going into hiding is Castiel’s best option in a worst case scenario. Castiel has _been_ in hiding, and under worse circumstances. There’s no telling how angry Michael is at the moment, or how serious his demand is, but Castiel most vehemently doesn’t want the king hanging over his future in any meaningful way. Castiel’s had enough of Michael’s hanging over his past and present.

As soon as Dean loosens his grip, Castiel wriggles free, rising off the bed to get dressed. “You’ll be with Victor today?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “You hang tight, keep doing your thing, and… Wait, do you hear voices?”

Castiel turns his head, listening. “Yes. Maybe Anna has the radio on?”

Anna does, in fact, have the radio on, but the voices are not coming from that piece of equipment. When Castiel steps outside his room, he’s surprised to see Hannah sitting with Anna at the dining room table, both of them animatedly chatting over a hearty breakfast spread that cannot all have come from Anna’s kitchen.

“Oh, good morning!” Hannah briefly rises to bow, for she is stubborn and holds on to protocol. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

“Don’t need to care about that,” Anna says wryly.

Castiel approaches the table, drawn by the aroma of butter and fruit. “This is an early visit, Hannah.”

“It was on my way,” Hannah says, which has to be a lie because Rexford is barely on the way to anywhere. “Anna called me last night, asking about a newsletter?” Castiel sighs, but Hannah just continues cheerfully, “I thought I would drop by to share.”

“You really spoil my sister,” Castiel says.

Instead of making an offended comment, Anna lifts up the page she’s reading, displaying it for Castiel’s inspection. Surprisingly, Castiel has to come in close to spot the relevant article, tucked as it is in the sidebar. The pair of pictures are small black and white versions of the photos Dean gave him a few days ago, and though they’re grainy, their subjects are clearly recognizable as himself and Dean. That said, the poor resolution makes it difficult to make out the background, and the accompanying text doesn’t say anything about where or how it was taken.

In fact, the blurb doesn’t even mention their names. It only says that the newsletter is happy to report that another couple has been successfully reunited, followed by some vague spiel about how efforts are underway to make this happen for everyone.

“ _This_ is a collector’s item?” Castiel says in disbelief. “You can’t even see our expressions clearly.”

“It’s the first picture of both of you together since your honeymoon,” Hannah says, a tad reproachfully. “It’s a big deal, especially considering how you in particular dropped off everyone’s radar so abruptly.”

Castiel is almost disappointed by how mundane and tasteful it is. He’s become too used to the elaborate glossy spreads of before, which were all sensation and vulgar and packed to the brim with fabrication. In comparison, this newsletter is on the far side of subdued, as though Dean and Castiel are simply one among the many couples all over the country that have been brought back together during this time in conflict.

“That’s interesting.” Castiel hands the newsletter back to Anna, and in doing so his eye is caught by the small stack of similar-looking papers on the table. “What are those?”

“Now, now, Castiel,” Anna says cautiously, “you mustn’t get upset. Or, well, if you _must_ get upset, don’t get upset with Hannah, because she just meant well. I’m her contact _and_ your sister, so if it’s anyone’s responsibility, it’s mine.”

Castiel leans closer to the stack, pushing against Anna’s arm where she’s trying to block him. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that this isn’t Hannah’s fault,” Anna says.

Hannah makes a noise of surprise. “Was it wrong?” she asks, rattled. “I—I didn’t mean any harm, I thought that since you were so generous with your time and thoughts, it was only fair that… Um.”

Castiel leans heavily against his sister’s shoulder, ignoring her sound of protest, and snatches the other newsletter from the table. He reads, frowns, and then keeps reading.

“Castiel,” Anna says firmly. “Don’t say anything mean. What’s done is done, we’ll manage this.”

Footsteps approach, and when Castiel looks up, Dean double-takes at his facial expression.

“Uh.” Dean drops into a free chair at the table, and nods distractedly at Hannah. “That seems pretty ominous.”

“Hannah has transcribed my words,” Castiel says. “The things I’ve said that Turner’s, about the kingdom, the monarchy, what it means to be… who we are. She has put it in written form, dressed it up in beautiful prose and allegory, and printed it.”

“People were…” Hannah shrinks a little when Castiel narrows his eyes at her, but then shakes her head and sits up straight. “Many people want – no, _need_ this. Not everyone was there to hear you and take comfort from your words, and there were some erroneous quotes being spread. I couldn’t let that stand without trying to fix it. These are important things you said, Castiel.”

“They’re incendiary words,” Castiel says. “There is no space for this kind of thinking back home.”

“Which is why our people need to hear it now,” Hannah says.

Dean sits up. “Lemme have a look.” Castiel hands the page over to Dean, who starts reading. After a while, he whistles. “Whoa, lot of bite in there, man.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Anna says. “All right, maybe Michael found out about it and this just adds to his vendetta, but there’s no changing his mind about that _now_.”

“His Majesty?” Hannah says in alarm. “Michael wants Castiel to return to him?”

“Yeah,” Dean drawls, still reading the paper. “’Cause Mike’s a caring family man like that.”

Hannah gasps. “He can’t do that! Well, he can’t. You’re a Republic citizen now, you’re married to – to – to your husband. Your tattoos are proof to the world!”

Castiel and Dean exchange a wary, knowing look. Their tattoos aren’t anywhere near as useful as Hannah hopes them to be. If anything, the tattoos’ current condition could be used against them, proof that the bond has been corrupted beyond their original purpose. There’s a reason that Dean’s made every effort to hide them all these months, only trusting those close to him – Sam, Charlie, Victor, Bobby, a few others – with that information.

Castiel shrugs. “A marriage isn’t going to stop Michael from getting what he wants. He could annul it, if he wishes. He has the authority to do it, whatever the current legality on the matter is.”

Dean scrunches up his nose. “Even if we’ve slept together?”

Castiel nods. “Even if we’ve slept together.”

“Don’t annul me, Cas,” Dean says solemnly. “That’d be a dick move.”

“The people won’t stand for this,” Hannah says. “If His Majesty treats his own kin thusly, then what can the rest of us hope for?”

Castiel waits, but Hannah seems to be perfectly earnest. It’s quite sweet, in its own way, though Castiel is compelled to add, “You do know that my family’s idea of awkward holiday reunions have involved cataclysmic wars?”

“Those are the old days,” Hannah says. “We are supposed to be better than that now. We _deserve_ better than that now.”

Even Dean pauses at that, and turns to Hannah with open curiosity. “Yeah,” he says, without a trace of sarcasm, “you do.”

“Thank you,” Hannah says. “And I heartily apologize if my actions played any part in your predicament.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel says, although it isn’t, not really. It’s simply that Anna is correct – there’s no point in blaming Hannah for something she didn’t know would bounce back to Castiel this way. After all, it’s Castiel who chose to speak up, be seen, be snarky where other people can hear and carry his words forward beyond the realm of his control.

“You’re not going to him, are you?” Hannah asks. “You can’t.”

“He’s not,” Dean says.

“We’re working on it,” Anna adds.

Hannah nods. “Good.”

Castiel should appreciate all of this decisiveness going on around him – Dean, Hannah, Anna – but it makes him feel off-kilter. He knows that any chance of changing Michael’s mind belongs in the hands of people hundreds of miles away, so the most that these (wonderful, kind) people can hope to do is create a delay, or a diversion.

Instead of saying any of this out loud, Castiel declares that he should get ready for work.

* * *

Castiel tries not to let his emotions affect his work, but a handful of Gas-n-Sip customers pick up on his grumpiness as the day wears on. They cannot have any idea what’s happening, so it’s a little embarrassing that Castiel’s apparent rain cloud is so noticeable. Yet at the same, it is rather nice to get a sympathetic smile every now and then. It’s a small thing, but kindness is appreciated.

There’s also Nora, who would undoubtedly offer a sympathetic ear, but Castiel doesn’t want to burden her with something he doesn’t even know the full information of. For all Castiel knows, Ellen has already found some other carrot to lure Michael away, setting his sights on benefits far more attractive than an uninteresting cousin who stopped being relevant months ago.

Castiel’s preoccupation with this matter – along with his newfound acceptance that people may want to gawk at him or make small talk – makes him a little slow to notice things.

When a customer corners him between the shelves as he’s restocking tissue boxes, Castiel doesn’t think much of it at first.

“Rough day?” the woman asks.

“Mmm,” Castiel says. “May I help you with something?”

“Sure,” she says easily. “I was wondering if you knew that it didn’t cut all the way through.”

Castiel frowns, the statement not immediately comprehensible. “What was that?”

“When you tried to break it, it didn’t take.” Where all the other customers have kept their polite distance from him, this one reaches out, swiping her fingers lightly across Castiel’s forearm. “A burning cut isn’t enough to go all the way through.”

Now she has Castiel’s full attention. She is familiar, but not familiar enough to have been seen in these parts regularly over the past few months. Castiel’s only clear memory of this customer is her coming in yesterday, when she’d asked if he was Castiel.

She is smirking now.

This is some kind of joke, perhaps. No one beyond a trusted few know that Castiel and Dean’s tattoo has been damaged. Yet it is not impossible that someone might have figured it out.

“What do you know of the cut?” Castiel asks.

“The binding was deeper than you thought,” she says, which is an odd statement and makes Castiel think that she’s talking about something else entirely. “How is that brother-in-law of yours?”

Castiel scowls. Her smile broadens, and Castiel now notices other details about her – her hunter-like jacket, charms on a silver rope around her waist, her dirty knuckles. She knows that he’s studying her, and seems to preen under his attention.

“Who are you?” Castiel asks.

“A friend,” she says. “A friend of the family, if you want to get technical about it.”

“Stop being coy and explain your purpose.”

Her eyes light up. “Ooh, that’s more like it, Charming. Take it easy, this is just a courtesy call. Thought you might want to know that your efforts to emancipate young Sam didn’t quite take. What did you use, a knife? Yeah, that takes out the surface brand, but not the one underneath.”

It’s difficult to main eye-contact while surreptitiously checking the surroundings for other suspicious people. “Are you looking out for his well-being?”

“Yeah, that,” she says carelessly. “Yours, too. Word on the street is that you’re giving that bulls-eye on your back a fresh coat of paint.”

“Your concern is noted. Tell me where you obtained this supposed information about Sam.”

“From his lord, of course.” Her smile is sharp, and her eyes sharper. “He sends his regards.”

If she hopes that Castiel will freak out, then she’s due for a disappointment. Castiel nods, frowns, adjusts his stance. “So this is a threat.”

“No, not a threat,” she says airily. “An invitation.”

“Then my cousin is nearby.”

“Close enough. He’d like to meet you.”

Castiel reaches for her. Her eyes go wide and she jerks backward, hitting the shelves behind her and causing an avalanche of merchandise. Castiel swats boxes of cereal out of the way, but she’s fast, already turning and running for the exit before Castiel can grab her.

“Hell’s bells,” she hisses as she flees.

“Stop her!” Castiel shouts. “Stop that woman!”

Someone darts in front of the door, blocking it, but the woman – an agent of _Lucifer_ , apparently – throws something at them that explodes in a cloud of dust. Castiel gets there in time to catch the bystander when they collapse, but can only watch as the agent leaps out the door, unhindered. Outside, Lila tries to get in her way, but she zigzags to freedom, disappearing down the road at a full sprint.

“Salt!” Nora yells.

Castiel looks down at the brave young man – a boy, really – who’s splayed in his arms, his eyes wide, red and unseeing. His mouth is open in a silent shout, and Castiel quickly lays him out properly on the floor, legs spread and torso up at an angle to help him breathe.

The store’s customers have clustered around Castiel, but Nora is the one who crouches right next to him, bag of salt ripped open in her hands. She throws it in quick handfuls, covering the places where the dust landed and hopefully mitigating its effects.

“Hex bag?” Nora asks.

“I think so,” Castiel says. “That’s definitely sulfur.”

Nora checks the boy’s eyes and vital signs, all the while talking softly to reassure him that things are going to be okay. Castiel has seen this boy a few times in this store, sometimes with his friends, but he hadn’t known until this moment that his name is Billy.

“We can take my car,” another customer says. “To the clinic.”

Decisions are made quickly – Nora will stay behind and wait for the sheriff, and Castiel will go with the boy to the clinic.

Nora’s friend drives them all the way up into the town center, and Castiel sits at the backseat with Billy, keeping him propped up and checking his condition through the journey. Castiel is quite certain that boy will be fine after the receiving appropriate shots, but this must be terrifying for him, lying frozen but lucid. The hex bag was an unnecessary action of cruelty, for the woman could have simply pushed the boy out of the way, and Castiel wonders if the hex was meant for _him_ instead.

* * *

Dean finds him at the clinic, where Castiel is sitting in one of the plastic chairs of the waiting area. Castiel stands as Dean approaches, and nods through Dean’s quick questions – is he okay, is the boy okay, is everyone at the store okay? As soon as he’s done, Dean opens his arms, wrapping them around Castiel for a hug.

“The sheriff’s still questioning Billy down the hall,” Castiel says.

As Dean pulls away, his eyes rove over Castiel’s body in checking that he’s fine. “Nora sounded like she had everything under control. This doesn’t happen much in these parts, I’m guessing.”

“No,” Castiel says. “The library’s haunted, but that’s about it. Rexford is quite… quiet. Anyone who needs more excitement in their lives prefer to be elsewhere.”

Footsteps draw Castiel’s attention away, to where Sheriff Osborne is walking towards them. Dean straightens up, perhaps in response to Osborne’s stern, serious face that reminds Castiel somewhat of Dean’s grandfather. Castiel has seen the sheriff around town a few times but never interacted with him before, though there’s a first time for everything.

“Is he all right?” Castiel says.

“Billy’s a strong kid,” Osborne says. “He’ll get to walk away with a headache in a day or so. Sheriff Osborne.” He offers his hand, which Castiel and then Dean shake.

“I’m Castiel, and this is my husband, Dean,” Castiel says. “I work at the store, I was there when it happened.” Osborne barely needs to prompt him for Castiel to describe everything – the woman’s appearance and accent, the way the hex bag reacted.

“And aside from yesterday, you’ve never seen her before?” Osborne asks.

“No,” Castiel says. “Did Nora say whether she’s seen… Sorry, I’m sure you’ve already asked her. Anyway, what’s important is what that woman told me. She said that she’s a friend of the family. _My_ family. She didn’t use his name, but her meaning was clear enough to me. Lucifer is nearby.” Standing close next to Castiel, Dean inhales sharply.

For a moment, Osborne doesn’t seem to know how to react. Then, he dips his head back, sighs, and scowls up to the ceiling. “Well, fuck. You sure?”

“It’s possible that she’s lying, or playing some kind of trick, but…” Castiel turns to Dean. “How is the search for Lucifer going? Could he be in this county?”

Osborne frowns. “You a part of that, Dean?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says. “Well, not _right now_ , but I got ins with the crew that’s been tracking him since Stanford. My first instinct’s saying that it’s not possible that he could come this far without being seen. But if he’s moving with a small team, keeping it low-key… yeah, it’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.”

“I have to notify the mayor,” Osborne says. “You willing to share your story?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, of—”

“Cas,” Dean says urgently. “Sorry, could you give us a sec?”

Castiel is confused by Dean’s gentle pulling him away, until Dean leans in close and whispers, “They’re gonna have to call this in to the capital – Ellen, the council, whoever. That means _Michael_ will get word of it, and that’ll give him the excuse to come down here personally. Or at least, send some of his business-meaning mooks.”

“If Michael had to choose between Lucifer and me, he’d go for Lucifer,” Castiel says. “He’s the bigger prize.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean says. “Me and Victor, we got to talk to Ellen earlier. She said that Michael’s not budging on his terms, so I’m thinking you’re on the receiving end of one of his epic grudges. Look, maybe we can take care of this quietly. I can contact the search team, bring them here and they can deal with it without involving the capital.”

“And leave Rexford vulnerable to Lucifer?” Castiel says. “No, these people should know.”

“No, no, that’s cool,” Dean says. “I’m suggesting that we talk to the Mayor, lay it all out on this angle for them to decide.”

Something about this sits uneasily with Castiel, but he can see Dean’s point. After all, the last thing Castiel wants is for Rexford to become the next Stanford. Dean was there _at_ Stanford to see how the weeks-long stand-off took its toll on the town, and Stanford wasn’t even as isolated as Rexford is. Rexford is a hilltop town, relying on trees and sharp drops to mark its borders, with nary an ancient wall or fortified House in sight.

“All right,” Castiel says. “I agree that isn’t a decision we should make for the town.”

Osborne, who’s been waiting patiently, agrees to take them to the mayor’s office.

* * *

It is a long, worrisome day. Some time is spent at the mayor’s office in the courthouse, where Castiel is relieved that Mayor Case is willing to listen to them with appropriate graveness, sitting patiently through to Castiel’s report and their thoughts on what can be done. If this is an unfair advantage of Castiel and Dean’s being famous, then so be it, may their powers of celebrity be used for good.

“We can’t call for a localized emergency state yet,” Mayor Case says, “but there are other things we can do first. Osborne, how’s that action plan of yours?”

“Will do, ma’am,” Osborne says. “I’ll bring everyone in for the briefing.”

“Excellent.” Mayor Case has been sitting at her desk ever since they arrived, but she stands now, prompting Dean, Castiel and Osborne to stand as well. “Thank you, I think we’ll manage from here.”

“So,” Dean says, “you’re okay if I call my people in?”

“As if there’s stopping you Hunters,” Mayor Case replies, sharp but not hostile. “Lucifer’s your jurisdiction, but protecting this town is mine. I see your point that it’s risky to bring in outside attention, but my people will scout the town before we make a call on this either way.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “I really do appreciate your listening.”

At Mayor Case’s raised eyebrow, Dean pipes in with an inappropriately cheerful, “We got a poor track record with authority figures.”

“Well, we can’t be having that now,” Mayor Case says good-naturedly. “I could throw you in the holding cell for a few minutes if it’ll make you feel better?”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to pass,” Castiel says politely, while Dean guffaws.

“Despite the circumstances, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Mayor Case smiles. “I’d heard that you’d set yourself up here, but didn’t get to see it for myself.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, flustered. “I suppose I should have made a courtesy call earlier. Rexford has been… very wonderful, during a difficult time.”

Mayor Case responds with a small, acknowledging gesture with her head, which makes Castiel quite certain that this is a commonplace thing for her to hear. “That’s good,” she says. “So the two of you, you’ll let my people manage my town, I’ll keep you notified if there’s anything new, and you keep _me_ notified if there’s anything new.”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel says.

They leave the courthouse feeling accomplished, but the oppressive air of the situation returns once they’re alone in the Impala. It is one thing to have Michael’s sort-of edict to deal with, for the distance between them and the king makes any action Michael could make delayed by necessity. The possibility of Lucifer being so close is wholly different.

They are quiet while Dean navigates the town’s narrow roads, and Castiel waits until they’re out of the town center before breaking the silence.

“I didn’t tell them everything,” Castiel says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s a good move for now, but if the mayor calls it in to St. Leb, she might find out anyway – that you’re supposed to be on your way north to meet Michael.”

“Not that,” Castiel says. “Well, yes, that, but also… I didn’t tell them everything the woman told me at the Gas-n-Sip. Dean, she mentioned your brother.”

Dean starts in surprise. “What?”

Castiel withheld this information because it seemed enough for the townsfolk to know about the possible threat of Lucifer. The issue of Sam, and Sam’s link to Lucifer, is far more private. He shares it with Dean now, and is saddened by the way Dean’s face immediately darkens with worry.

“What does that mean?” Dean asks. “The cut didn’t go all the way through?”

“I think it means that I failed to break the binding,” Castiel says. “That your brother is still linked to Lucifer.”

“Is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. There are sciences beyond my knowledge, and Lucifer did manage to bind different creatures of the wilderness to him somehow. He could have modified the binding, added something I’ve never seen before.”

“So.” Dean frowns thoughtfully. “Was that a threat? Like, he’ll go after Sam again if you don’t dance to his tune?”

“She didn’t stay long enough to be questioned further.” Castiel falls silent while Dean ruminates on this. Castiel has a point that he wants to make, but first it’s best to let Dean understand the extent of what this means.

It isn’t just the threat of Lucifer staking his claim on Sam. Dean’s brother is far away for now, and that makes him safe from Lucifer’s immediate attention.

But it is Castiel’s understanding that Dean, Sam and their parents have been doing their best to downplay Sam’s previous rebellious support of Lucifer. Sam’s ‘betrayal’ is only viewed as a betrayal if it’s politically expedient; otherwise he’s merely a young man who tried to protect his country. Yet if the depth of his binding – if it’s still there – becomes known, then Sam no longer has that good will to fall back on. He is still legally bound to Lucifer’s House, and that changes things.

If Michael knew about it, then Sam would be a useful link for him to use, to reach both Lucifer and Castiel. The Campbells might have been equally involved in Lucifer’s party before going turncoat in Stanford, but they would be far less useful as leverage, at least if the target is Castiel.

Dean doesn’t talk about it, but Castiel thinks things are still fraught in his family. Castiel knows that the Campbells abandoned Lucifer’s side to fight with the Republic forces, but does that make up for the weeks, months, of lying and scheming, and hurling Sam and then Dean into agendas they didn’t know the extent of? Dean must still be internally dealing with that, and Castiel knows from the few times that Dean’s brushed off his questions that he’s not ready to share. Castiel understands.

 Dean draws Castiel out of his thoughts when he says, “Do I drop you off at the store, or back at Anna’s?”

“The store, please. My things are still there and I want to check in the others. Are you going to contact your brother to warn him?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Gotta let Victor know as well, he might have some ideas.”

“That’s good.”

“I couldn’t get a read on Ellen either, when we talked to her earlier,” Dean says. “She said that Michael’s terms are non-negotiable, but she sounded… I don’t know, distracted. She sounded like her usual bossy self, but I couldn’t tell if she was legit about commanding us to escort you, or if she was double-meaning it. Like, was she just saying that as a front and is totally cool if we hide out? I got no clue.”

“Can you tell the difference?” Castiel asks.

“Usually, yeah. When she means something, you can tell. When she’s being sneaky, she has a tell there, too. This was…” Dean frowns, perplexed. “This was weird, like it didn’t matter what we decide to do.”

“Maybe _she_ doesn’t know what to do.”

“Maybe,” Dean says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

By the time Castiel is returned to the Gas-n-Sip, it’s late in the afternoon, only a few hours until the end of his working shift.

Castiel waves Dean off as he approaches the store, noticing that a small crowd has gathered inside, though Nora is at its head and seems to have everything under control. As soon as Castiel pushes the door open, the first thing he notices is that the floor has been cleaned up. The second thing he notices is Nora’s rushing towards him.

“How’s Billy?” Nora asks.

“He’s fine,” Castiel says. “I was told that he’ll be up and about in a few days. Sorry it took so long, I went to talk to Mayor Case. She’s looking into the situation.”

The other people in the store – Lila, a handful of familiar customers – slowly drift over, at least close enough to hear Nora’s demanding, “But what _is_ the situation? Are we supposed to be on the lookout for that person?”

“I don’t think I’m qualified to say,” Castiel says. “But common sense dictates that that should be an important thing to do, yes.”

Lila clears her throat. “I was just saying, I’ve seen her a few times. Mostly just loitering around. Only in the past week or so, I think.”

Nora nods at Castiel pointedly, while a murmur of agreement passes through the small gathering. Nora adds, “But you sure _you_ don’t remember her from somewhere?”

“No, I’ve never…”

Castiel pauses, suddenly aware that Mayor Case didn’t specify what he could or could _not_ share publically. The last thing Castiel wants is to create a panic, plus there’s also the matter of not wanting to undermine the mayor’s authority. Yet Nora is watching him so hopefully, and Castiel doesn’t have the heart to shut her out.

“I can’t share the full details yet.” Castiel says carefully. “I’m sorry – that’s for the mayor to decide. But I can say that everyone should try to be more vigilant. If we can catch this person, her purpose can be revealed to greater detail.”

Nora narrows her eyes speculatively. “But you know _something_ about her.”

Castiel winces. “I believe that she came here for me, specifically. I don’t think I should say much more.”

One of Nora’s friends catches the meaning before she does, chiming up with an alarmed, “Are you in trouble?”

“No more than anyone else at this point, I think,” Castiel says. “Truly, I think the best thing we can all do is be more attentive of our surroundings and our protections.”

“How do you protect against a hex like that?” Lila asks.

“There are ways.” Castiel has a visceral sense of déjà vu at the half-dozen or so eyes that abruptly focus on him. “Protection charms and the like, I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Salt in the foundations doesn’t exactly stop anyone with a warm pulse,” Nora says.

“Ah, yes.” Castiel’s eyes wander to the shelves, where he knows intuitively – from months of managing inventory– that there are packs of salt, tea lights, spools of copper wire, chalk, and various other useful household items. “There are some ways you can… Come, let’s see what’s usable.”

And so it is that when Dean returns to the Gas-n-Sip later to pick Castiel up, he arrives to the scene of: Castiel on the floor, covered in chalk dust and soot, surrounded by a dozen or so townsfolk who are listening to him in various degrees of enthrallment or critical commentary.

“No,” Castiel is saying, “it does make a difference what kind of floor – wood, cement and stone have completely different properties, it doesn’t matter if parts of the stone used to be alive—”

Dean coughs from the doorway. Castiel’s head snaps up, bewildered.

“Hey,” Nora says, waving a hand in greeting. “Sorry for keeping him.”

“Nah,” Dean says with a shrug. “Why are you drawing a Blood Gate on the floor?”

“It’s a demonstration, see,” Castiel says, waving a half-broken piece of chalk in the air. “It’s always better to know the theory behind protective sigils, because then you know why they work, and which parts are inflexible, like the command compass.”

“Hey now.” Dean crouches down on his haunches, smiling at Castiel’s audience as he joins them. “The effect comes from the spell lettering. The points are just to determine the range.”

“That is true,” Castiel says, “but if the compass is broken, then there’s no point in having any of the sigil at all.”

“No, it’s still useful,” Dean argues. “The power is still there, it’s just not directed.”

“That’s what I said,” says the young man sitting next to Nora.

“I heard you that time, Tommy,” Castiel says, “but the fact remains that if the power is not directed, then it can be harmful to the very people who cast the spell.”

“It does not,” Dean says. “The sigil recognizes the caster.”

“Dean,” Castiel says. “This is literally my expertise.”

Dean spreads his hands. “Practical experience, babe.”

Castiel flicks chalk dust at him. “The Men of Letters don’t tell you everything about how their spells works.”

“That is harsh,” Nora says. She shrugs when Castiel gives her a look. “It is, Cas.”

“Well, then.” Castiel clears his throat self-consciously, because Dean’s smile is doing dangerous things to his concentration. “I shall have to… My shift, it’s over, yes, I think. So as I said, stick to the Evil Eye sigil, that should cover most of the basics. Lucy, you can bring your things to the store tomorrow, I’ll make the charm for you.”

“Oh, would you?” Lucy says. “Oh my god, that’d be so great.”

“I can do makeshift protections for anyone else who needs them, but it’s very…” Castiel starts to wipe his face, but is luckily stopped when Dean grabs at his hands, pulling them towards him to dust them clean. Castiel makes a face at Dean, who just tuts reproachfully, then turns to Nora to add, “The portable stove would be very useful, I could set it up in the back.”

“Yeah, that works,” Nora says. “We don’t have much silver to spare in these parts.”

“I’m sorry I have to cut this short,” Castiel says, to which the others quickly insist that it’s fine, and they’re sorry for already keeping him for longer than necessary. Lila is even extra helpful by collecting Castiel’s things from the back room, handing them over before Castiel is even more delayed.

“I’ll bring him back in one piece,” Dean says with a laugh. He slips his hand into Castiel’s, tugging him along before Castiel can remember something else truly vital and important that he needs to share right now.

“Shoo,” Nora says, waving them off. “There’s tomorrow.”

* * *

“I assume that your mood means there’s good news?” Castiel asks. The passenger seat in the Impala is reasonably-sized, but it’s a challenge for Castiel to peel off his vest as Dean drives back to the cottage. “Is there anything new?”

“I got some people coming,” Dean says. “And I saw the locals making the patrols around town earlier. Osborne seems like a decent guy, knows his shit. He said that there’s only a few places this side of the mountain where people can make camp and not be seen, unless they’re further down and way outside the borders. So they’re checking those places out.”

“No sign of the woman herself?” Castiel asks.

“Nah,” Dean says. “If she’s smart she would’ve high-tailed it out of here, report back to her boss. She probably had a car somewhere, it makes sense. How are you doing?”

Castiel hesitates, stalling for time by folding his vest properly. “I don’t know. Strange. Michael on one end, Lucifer on the other, Ellen unhelpful, Naomi gone quiet. So many things, and the only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want these people, or any other people, to suffer in any way.”

“Hey.” Dean reaches over, stroking a hand over Castiel’s. “We’re not gonna let that happen. And you – look at you back there, being all sexy smarty-pants. You’re helping give them the tools to protect themselves, that’s awesome.”

“I suppose,” Castiel says. “I do wonder – perhaps we’re looking at this in bad faith. We don’t actually know what Lucifer wants. Maybe he wants to negotiate, to find some way out that doesn’t involve death at Michael’s hands, which is truly the only way out that’s acceptable for the king. Maybe he thinks that since I – that since _we_ have so much in common, I could be an intermediate.”

“There’s a lot of assumptions you’re using there.”

“I’m just trying to make all of this make sense,” Castiel says. “I was enjoying being unimportant.”

Dean falls silent for a moment. Then, quietly, “Yeah, that was nice.”

When they arrive at Anna’s cottage, the first thing Castiel does when they’re out of the car is reach for Dean. He just needs a moment, really, that’s all. Dean seems to understand this, fingers hooking into Castiel’s belt just as Castiel slides his hands over Dean’s shoulders.

Castiel draws Dean in and kisses him. Dean sighs, mouth opening gently against Castiel’s. A subtle push, and Dean’s back connects with the Impala door, providing suitable support for Castiel’s pressing his body firmly against his husband’s and deepening the kiss.

Sometimes, Castiel has a firm grasp on what’s going on, and Dean is the one who flounders. Other times, they are like this, Castiel uncertain of everything and Dean the anchor that keeps him focused.

They kiss a few more times, and each time a little more solid ground returns underneath Castiel’s feet. When Castiel pulls away, Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s waist, holding them close for a moment longer.

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

“You really don’t need to thank me for that,” Dean says. “But, okay, you’re welcome. Let’s head in before Victor and Anna start thinking bad thoughts.”

Castiel laughs, Dean beams, and then they make their way into the house.

As they walk up the steps, Castiel glances over his shoulder at the woods, the tree line only broken by the sandy roads – one side leading back into town, and the other further down into the other private properties in this area.

For months all this beautiful greenery has been a sight that invoked only the feelings of peace and protection. Now he feels apprehensive, almost in dread of watchful eyes that are likely (he hopes) not even there.


	7. Chapter 7

That night’s radio broadcast is still helmed by Charlie. Her report details how Michael’s garrisons are finally making their exits from the various distant towns, drawing back to the capital and closer to the coast. That is all well and good, but there’s no mention of Lucifer, or the efforts to find him.

Victor says, with some exasperation, that Castiel’s lead (if it is a lead) is the only thing he’s heard about Lucifer anywhere on the vine. He thinks it’s good that they sit tight, let the locals do their thing, and wait for reinforcements.

As for Anna, she has many thoughts about Lucifer.

“There was something about the way he looked at people, as though he really _saw_ them,” Anna says. “I used to think it was my mind playing tricks on me, but from what Sam told me, I think my memory’s just fine. He had a way of making you feel important, and not by flattery. It’s in the kindness of his questions, in the way he listens to you. He used to visit our household before it all went down the crapper. I loved his visits.”

“A mirror of Michael,” Victor says. “But instead of arrogance, Lucifer uses humility. It gets your guard down, invokes sympathy and trust. That’s how Christian described him, anyway.”

Dean makes a faint snorting sound. When Castiel looks at him questioningly, Dean just says, “I just take anything Chris says with a huge helping of salt.”

“Even if Lucifer _is_ here,” Anna says, “he has to be in a depleted force. His allies scattered after Stanford, didn’t they?”

“Yep,” Victor says. “If we can take him out ourselves, it’d be pretty damn neat.”

Victor ends up sleeping in the cottage for the night, at Anna’s invitation and with Dean’s approval. Castiel understands the reasoning, but doesn’t like the feeling that they’re circling around him when the entire town would be in danger from Lucifer’s presence. There would be no point in saying that out loud, though, so Castiel doesn’t.

Truly, it is the lack of clarity that frustrates Castiel. Again he wishes that he’d tried harder to capture that agent of Lucifer’s. If he did, then they wouldn’t be left with little more than guesswork.

It doesn’t help that communication with people who might know what’s going on continues to be spotty. The only message Victor’s received from Ellen is a missive about how she hopes that he will report in once he’s almost at the capital with Castiel in tow. (Victor says that he didn’t reply, and will not reply for as long as he can.) As for Rachel, the only word they’ve received from her is a wire message that’s a few days old and merely states, “ _We are managing things here. Stay safe. Don’t do anything foolish_.”

The next day doesn’t bring many answers, either.

Sheriff Osborne drops by the Gas-n-Sip early on in Castiel’s morning shift, carrying with him a sheaf of notices from the mayor’s office that are to be pinned up around town. The Gas-n-Sip gets one, which advises the townsfolk to be vigilant of possible threats owing to the current conflict. Osborne also reports that his volunteers have been scouring the woods, and although there’s evidence of activity out there, they haven’t found anyone yet.

In the late evening, the first wave of Dean’s friends arrive. Two cars and seven people seem hardly sufficient to stop a garrison, but it’s not like they _know_ it’s a garrison they’re dealing with. At the helm of the small group is Bobby Singer, who has apparently handed over his wardenship of Turner Estate to someone else for the sake of this higher priority. Also with them are Kevin, Tara, Maggie, plus Steve, Creedy and Mackie, whom Castiel hadn’t officially met before.

Dean takes charge of the group, gathering them in front of Anna’s cottage for a briefing on what they know so far, which isn’t much. The townsfolk will help them, he says, but they’ll need to check in with the sheriff’s office first so people won’t mistake them for the invaders that they’re actually looking for. Once they’re set, it’s time to squeeze Lucifer out.

As Castiel watches Dean’s friends make camp around the cottage, he wonders whether it would be better or worse if he’d brought them here on a wild-goose chase.

 

* * *

 

“So what else did you do today?” Dean asks. “Besides making friendship bracelets for all your new friends.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and dodges Dean’s attempt to grab his butt. Helping Dean’s hunter friends took up quite a hefty chunk of their evening, and it’s only now that the two of them are alone, in Castiel’s room and undressing for sleep. Well, Castiel is undressing. Dean’s somehow already down to his sleepwear despite having started with far more layers, and is sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed.

“I taught a few more charms, shared a few more pointers on sigil theory,” Castiel says. “A great deal more people came by the store today, so we had to move some of the shelves, set up a corner as a… makeshift workshop of sorts to fit everyone. It’s good for Nora’s business, I guess.”

“She’s pretty awesome. You lucked out on bosses there.”

“I know.” Castiel pulls a cotton shirt on and finally joins Dean in sitting on the bed, legs splayed out in front of him. “It’s good that word’s out, too. Rexford has been untouched for the most part, but I think the people have been conscious on how that that could change at any moment.”

“Yeah, feels like it. You should see the set-up the sheriff’s got.” Dean whistles. “They have this grid of the town and the woods, all laid out neat and ready to go.”

“Will you join them first thing in the morning?”

“Yeah, after you head to work.” Dean lies down, arms folded behind his head. “We can press deeper into the woods now that Bobby and co. are here.”

Castiel plucks at the hem of his shirt restlessly. “What about Sam? How is he?”

“I don’t know, didn’t talk to him after the call this afternoon.”

“I know, you said, but don’t you …” Castiel stops and shakes his head. “I worry for him.”

“Sam’s a big boy.” Dean brushes Castiel’s waist with his hand, his fingertips just catching the cloth and tugging lightly. “He knows to keep his head down. I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a way to break the binding completely by himself.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Castiel says. “I was more concerned about what he might do for you.”

Dean’s hand stills. “For me?”

“He knows Lucifer better than Anna, better than me. And now he knows that Lucifer could be very near to you, his beloved brother. That could be… cause for concern.”

Dean snorts, but Castiel catches the flash of startled worry that passes over his face. “If you’re thinking Sam’s gonna come racing down here guns blazing, he’s going to have needed a head start of, what, four, five days on the road? He’s not gonna do that, if only ‘cause Mom won’t let him.”

“Your mother didn’t stop him from fleeing his engagement.”

“Oh, for…” Dean bounces up briefly, looping an arm around Castiel’s waist to drag him down. They settle next to each other, bodies slotting with comfortable familiarity, and Dean drops a kiss to the space above Castiel’s ear. “That was ages ago. He’s learned a couple of things since then. All of us have. Jesus, Cas, you’re worried enough for all of us.”

Dean gently swipes a hand over Castiel’s forehead, as though hoping to absorb all of his worry lines. Castiel leans against the touch, and tries to take Dean’s admonishment to heart.

“Is this what it was like, at Stanford?” he asks. “You said that the fighting only happened in spurts. In between there were long, dragged out periods where all you could do was watch and wait.”

Dean shimmies in closer to Castiel, fitting an arm over his waist. “This is nothing like Stanford. Didn’t have you with me there.”

“You know what I mean.”

Dean sighs. “Okay, fine, waiting around like this is _kinda_ similar, but this time there aren’t three friggin’ armies dancing around each other. Here’s we’ve got just the one prince with his scattered minions, and another, significantly handsomer, prince who has some friends and a whole town helping him out.”

“Your flattery isn’t as distracting as you think it is.”

“Sure it is.” Dean tugs at Castiel’s waist, guiding him to roll onto his side so that they’re facing each other. Dean didn’t bother to shave tonight, so his stubble adds interesting texture when they kiss.

There has been so much kissing these past few days, though Castiel is far from bored with any of it. Yet when Dean starts to roll on top of him, Castiel quickly braces a hand against his chest, holding him back.

“Um.” Castiel licks his lips. “I, I don’t think I…”

Dean frowns. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that, it’s just…” Castiel flushes, awkward and guilty, because it’s not as though he’s stopped wanting Dean. But Castiel feels strange tonight, restless and jittery, and although he knows sex can help with that, the thought of it makes him feel anxious instead of excited.

“You don’t want to?” Dean asks. “It’s cool.”

“It’s not you,” Castiel says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to, nothing wrong with that.” Dean eases back, giving Castiel room on the mattress. Castiel feels a swell of relief, and then guilt at being _relieved_ that the man he loves is perfectly fine with Castiel pushing him away. Dean must see it because he quickly makes a tutting noise and cups Castiel’s jaw gently. “Cas, I’m not in this just for the sex, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Castiel says softly. “You’re wonderful.”

Dean makes a mocking smirk, as though it really is as simple as that. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Castiel feels his face burn with shame and gratitude. “Hold me?”

“That, I can totally do.” Dean opens his arms, creating the space for Castiel to roll in close. Castiel does, heart hammering in his chest with sheer disbelief, because truly, _truly_ , he must be the luckiest person in the world.

It’s a slightly strange angle with their limbs intertwined such, but Dean manages to stroke the back of Castiel’s head, the touch soothing and gentle.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean says quietly. “We’re gonna take care of this, ‘cause we’re together now. And once this is all over, we’re gonna get our own place somewhere. Maybe not in one of the big cities, but a town, maybe? Somewhere with a nice library, at least, and big open fields nearby, just so we can drive out there whenever we want. Our place, of course, is gonna have a big garden, big kitchen, a big bedroom, thick walls, the works.”

Castiel is stunned by the casualness of Dean’s speech, the ease with which the words roll off of his lips. Dean must have been thinking about this for a while, at least long enough to form ideas he can conjure up at the drop of a hat. In this Castiel has fallen behind again, for he’s still only coming to terms with what it would mean for him to be uprooted permanently from the land of his birth, and free from the shadow of the king.

Castiel has spent weeks looking back, while Dean must have been looking forward.

Now, though, Castiel can try to catch up. “And a garage for you to tinker with your car and other… inventions.”

“Naturally.”

“And a TV room, perhaps? You will want to watch your shows.”

“With you, of course,” Dean says. “And there’s got to be a cabinet where I can finally organize all my cassettes and records.”

“Is it a significant collection?”

“Heck yeah. You’ll have your own, too. Uh, I mean…” Dean clears his throat. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to help you build up your own collection of crap. Or not-crap.”

Castiel smiles against Dean’s collarbone. “I’d like some books?”

“I’ve heard of those,” Dean teases. “What about the garden?”

“Will I have time to garden? Or shall we hire a gardener?”

“I don’t know, I guess it depends on what you wanna do.”

Castiel can almost imagine it. Dean has made himself so much at home in Anna’s cottage that Castiel can see Dean finding something similar to it, though they must pick a location closer to a larger town, at least a main highway. Dean must have access to such things for his work, plus Castiel’s quite certain that Dean wants at least _some_ noise within easy reach.

“You don’t want _that_ much peace and quiet,” Castiel says. “If it was just the two of us all the time you’d get far too restless.”

“Dude, I am so not ready for kids.”

Castiel starts in surprise, and then draws back so he can look at Dean’s face. “I… wasn’t thinking of children.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks, and Castiel can almost see his thoughts backtracking. “Tch, I knew that, I’m still a kid myself, you know, what the hell.”

“One, don’t say that about yourself, that’s creepy. And two... is that something that’s on your mind?”

“I, I just said – I’m not ready for that,” Dean sputters.

“But you’ve thought about it,” Castiel says. “You don’t want them now, but it’s something that perhaps you’d consider down the line?”

Dean licks his lips, stares, tries to look away, and then helplessly returns his gaze to meet Castiel’s. There is a kind of fear there, but Castiel doesn’t think it’s a fear of how Castiel might react to his answer. It’s fear for something else – Dean’s own expectations of himself, perhaps.

“On the list of things I’m pretty sure I’d fuck up, that would probably be one of them,” Dean says. “I – I don’t, uh… It’s not…”

“I very much disagree – you wouldn’t fuck that up,” Castiel says, cupping Dean’s face gently. “But I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. I see that it’s something you don’t know how you feel about yet. For the record, I haven’t ever thought about it seriously, either. But, I think… it’s something I could do, in the future. With you, if you want to.”

“Oh,” Dean says thickly. “Cool. The other thing is cool, too? You weren’t pushy.”

“It might even be easier now,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “In the old country there’s all sorts of requirements – the king has to approve the adoptee or the surrogate level by level, and there are so many _rituals_ to make them effectively blood-bound, it’s almost as huge a circus as getting married. We’re better off now, definitely.”

Dean is making one of his very stoic, very manly faces that still manages to betray the hurricane going on in his thoughts. “Okay,” he says in a gruff voice, “I’m gonna hug the crap out of you right now, so just hang on there…”

“Isn’t it cuddling when we’re horizontal—oh, okay.” Castiel laughs softly when Dean draws him back close against his body, Dean’s arms tight around him.

Castiel is reasonably certain that this is an appreciative response on Dean’s part, so it’s probably best that Castiel not point out that he’s getting a far better end of this deal compared to Dean. Here Dean is, already working hard visualizing their future and taking the necessary steps to make it happen, and Castiel is just… well.

It’s a tidy little flip on what they were before, when Castiel was the one with the resources and Dean came along for the ride. Castiel understands better now, how anxious and inadequate Dean felt at that time. Yet Castiel reminds himself that Dean’s goals are simple ones; he’s in this because he wants to be with Castiel, and to be loved by Castiel.

“You keep that in your head, okay?” Dean says. “We’re gonna get that, all of that. We just need to hang on for a little while.”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I will keep reminding myself.”

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel is the one currently tasked to open the shop in the mornings so, the next day, he’s one of the first to see what’s been done to the store’s front door. Dean is with him, of course, and he bursts into a flurry of curses as Castiel steps out of the Impala in a daze.

“Cas,” Dean calls out, “wait, don’t—”

There are symbols of dark blue ink sketched across the glass, the thick lines of dried liquid partially obscuring the writing on the door. As Castiel approaches, he’s able to detect the faint, fuel-like smell wafting off of the door.

Although it’s still early, Sheriff Osborne is already here, hands on his hips and studying the door. He holds a hand out, signaling Castiel to stand back.

“Got here five minutes before you did,” Osborne says. “Give or take. Been doing my morning rounds, wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

Dean jogs up to Castiel’s side and places a hand on Castiel’s arm. “Hey, Sheriff. Tell me you’ve swept the area.”

“It’s clear,” Osborne says drily. “Some fresh footsteps in the dirt over there, but not much else.”

“Do you know what is?” Castiel says.

“Dragon blood,” Osborne says. “Never seem one of ‘em alive myself, but you don’t forget that smell.”

“That’s what that liquid is, yes,” Castiel says. “But those symbols drawn in it. Do you know what those two images are?”

Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s arm. “House badges. That one’s Lucifer’s.”

“That’s Lucifer’s badge on the right, yes,” Castiel says.

Osborne scoffs. “So he’s claiming our town now, is he? Under the cover of darkness, no less, because that’s… not all that impressive.”

“A scare tactic, then,” Dean says. “Maybe because he doesn’t have the numbers or the firepower to back it up.”

Their analysis sounds likely, but Castiel’s attention is firmly caught on the sheer, brazen declaration of the drawn crests. They have been sketched beautifully and in painstaking detail despite the difficult quality of the blood, so it had to be have been done by people who knew what they’re doing. The animals, the trees, the nine points of the crown hovering on top of shields, all of it. Such a statement could not have been a rushed job.

“What’s the badge on the left?” Dean asks. “The tree means it belongs to a branch of the royal family, but I don’t remember ever seeing a – what is that?”

“An anvil,” Castiel says. “For smithing. That badge belonged to my parents.”

Dean inhales sharply, but Osborne just sounds confused when he says, “Your parents?”

“It’s a message,” Castiel says. “His badge and mine, on the town.”

“Like a challenge?” Osborne says. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of you, that kind of thing?”

“Probably,” Castiel says. “I should open the store.”

“What, no,” Dean says. “I’m gonna call Bobby, we’re gonna sweep the area—”

“Lucifer’s not hiding behind the cash register,” Castiel says. “This is a declaration, and he’s going to let us simmer in it. In the meantime, my customers are going to be coming in soon, so I should get ready for them.”

Dean seems mildly offended by this, but he doesn’t press the issue. While Osborne stays outside to take photos of the drawings, Castiel unlocks the door and enters, Dean close behind him to watch his back for traps or spies or whatever else he thinks is lurking in the dangerous corners of the Gas-n-Sip. When the store is secured to Dean’s satisfaction, he heads back out and radios the rest of his team to make their way there.

Even with the message on the door, the priority is still to find Lucifer and his forces. Osborne knows this, Dean knows this. The town’s daily routine cannot come to a halt, and Castiel has a slurpee machine to fill.

Lila arrives around the same time as Bobby and some of the other hunters. She’s startled by the commotion but recovers after a quick talk with Osborne about what’s going on. Castiel thinks that the store must look like a crime scene from the outside, what with Dean, Bobby and Osborne holding a conference near the gas pumps, while Kevin and the others search the area for clues.

Castiel is in the middle of cleaning the side windows when Dean returns inside. Castiel only pauses wiping the glass long enough to smile reassuringly at Dean, which is a good decision as it clears some Dean’s pinched frown.

“Hey,” Dean says. “So we’re going to start our search now. You good?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I’ll be here.”

“Victor’s gonna stay, I hope that’s cool.”

Castiel scowls. “A bodyguard?”

“For me, okay?” Dean says. “So I can focus on… other things and not worry about you.”

“What about me?” Castiel counters. “I worry about you. You haven’t even fully recovered yet.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m heading out there alone.” Dean sighs when Castiel steps sideways away from him, chasing another part of the window that needs cleaning. Dean trails after him, tugging at the hem of Castiel’s vest gently. “And I’m not the one whose family crest is drawn in _blood_ over there.”

“I’m aware of that,” Castiel says. “Fine, I’ll get a chair for Victor or something.”

“One more thing, though.” Dean glances over his shoulder, though the only other person inside the store is Lila, who is nowhere near enough to overhear them. “About that family crest thing. I was wondering, is it weird that Lucifer would use your parents’ badges instead of yours? Does it mean he doesn’t know what yours looks like?”

“It’s possible.”

Dean slants a look at Castiel. “That’s a weasel answer.”

“It’s possible that Lucifer doesn’t know what my current badge looks like, but if he wanted to be accurate, he would’ve found my correct one easily.”

“He and Michael did things like this all over Stanford.” Dean sweeps a hand in the air, painting vague shapes in quick, sharp jabs. “Every time they ‘won’ an area – a building, a block, whatever – they’d mark it up with paint, blood, chicken scratches, whatever they had. They’d put theirs on top of whoever’s was there before, so it was always clear who called dibs most recently. But I never saw two badges like this, side by side.”

“You think there’s another meaning?”

“There _has_ to be another meaning.”

“Fine, yes, it’s probably a jab,” Castiel says sharply, dropping his cleaning cloth in irritation. “Lucifer’s reminding me of my origins, of my parents’ pledge to his House when I was a child. That badge was discontinued years ago, and by putting it there, he’s saying he remembers it, just as he remembers me.”

“But they’re painted side by side.” Dean draws closer against Castiel’s side, the curl of his body almost protective. “Not with his crest on top, like what Michael did with yours at our wedding. So it’s not like he’s saying that he’s the boss of you.”

Castiel shrugs. “Lucifer’s tactics aren’t Michael’s.”

“Cas.” Dean covers Castiel’s hand with his own. “Cas, please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?” Castiel asks.

“Whatever it is, it’s making me nervous.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. Dean is trying very hard to be kind, so even though Castiel is irritated, he can’t help but adore Dean for it. “It doesn’t change anything. You still need to find Lucifer and detain him, wherever he is.” Castiel lifts his gaze up, past the window to what he can see of the town beyond, the road and trees still pale under early morning light.

“Cas—”

“I think he’s saying we’re the same,” Castiel says. “That the town can belong to both of us, and that we can work together.”

“But why you?” Dean asks. “It’s not like you have a standing army hanging around your pockets.”

“I have you,” Castiel says. “Aside from your very enjoyable company and support, your independent faction played a crucial role at the Stanford conflict. If he is as desperate as you think he is, he might as well try this angle.”

“That makes sense. Though I guess I should go ask him to be sure.” Dean is quiet for a moment, and then adds, “You’re nothing like him.”

“You know that’s not true,” Castiel says with a laugh. “We’ve both made our open stance against Michael. It’s all right. I think it’s better to be aware of our sometimes-parallel desires to be free from Michael’s iron hand. It’s how we act upon those desires that makes the difference.”

Dean shakes his head, grinning. “Now that’s something Sam should hear. As soon as this is all over, you two are gonna sit down together and thrash out all this business.”

“Stubbornness runs in the family, I’ve heard.”

“And I went and got myself married to someone just as bad.” When Castiel laughs, Dean grins and presses his face against Castiel’s shoulder. “Goddammit, I used to make fun of people like us. Karma, I guess.”

“People like us?”

“You know, couples who are completely disgusting.”

“We’re not disgusting, we set a good example.”

“And isn’t that fucking ironic when you think about it,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Ah, dang, customers at 2 o’clock. And there’s Bobby side-eyeing the fuck outta me at 3. Better make a move.”

Castiel catches Dean’s hand before he leaves, pressing a kiss to his wrist before letting go. “Take care of yourself and don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“You listen to your own goddamned advice, too, okay, Cas?” Dean says as he walks away, though he’s smiling. “I’ll check in if we find anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

It is strange at first to have Victor hanging around the store, but then Lila has the brilliant idea of asking if he can help carry things around. Victor seems relieved to have something to do _,_ so Castiel makes the executive decision to fetch a spare vest from the store room and designate Victor an honorary employee for the day. It would make customers slightly less nervous if he’s going to loiter around, after all.

The first trickle of morning customers are their usual early clientele, and Victor is surprisingly good-natured about having to explain about the markings on the door (“Yes, we’re doing everything we can; no, it’s not a joke; uh, I can’t comment about the usefulness of your shotgun, maybe you should run that by the sheriff first”) in between helping them pump gas and clean windshields.

Nora comes in a little later in the morning, as is usual. Her conclusion, from Victor’s presence and the marks on the door, is, “Hey, if someone’s giving us free security, I’m not going to complain. Welcome to the team.”

“Don’t suppose I can get paid in coffee?” Victor asks.

“Do a good job, and I just might consider it,” she replies.

Other late morning arrivals include returning townsfolk from yesterday, back to learn more about protective spells or to collect custom protection charms Castiel promised them. There are also new faces – more locals who’ve been brought here by words of mouth and are seeking more of the same. If Victor is wondering why a gas station is doubling as an apothecary, he doesn’t comment, and just rolls with it as he does everything else.

Most of the things Castiel puts together are straightforward pieces: protective charms, detector candles, sigils burned directly into pieces of cloth to be worn near the skin, et cetera. These are easily assembled, especially with Nora and Lila keeping the rest of the store running and corralling the small crowd where necessary, while Victor provides a tremendously beneficial extra pair of hands.

“You know,” Nora says, as she watches Castiel work, “I feel bad now for not making you charge for what you’re doing.”

“I can’t do that,” Castiel says. “Customers pay for the materials, I just rearrange them.”

Victor snorts. “That’s why it’s called a service charge.”

“I’m repaying the town,” Castiel says. “That’s all.”

During the early afternoon lull between customers, Castiel and Victor end up sitting together at the workshop table set up beside the cashier, folding copper wire into circlets. The work is simple and repetitive – the repetition part somewhat distracts from the fact that there’s been no word from the search team. Castiel’s hope is that no news is good news.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here,” Castiel says. “I’m sure you’d rather be doing something more useful than this.”

Victor shrugs. “Hey, maybe here’s where the real action’s at.” He carefully curves the final piece of a circlet and nods with satisfaction. “Lucifer’s got his sights on you, and maybe that lady friend of his will show up again.”

“I doubt it,” Castiel says.

“Why?” Victor says. “Everyone else is busy searching the woods, and it’s logical to expect that you _won’t_ be among the search party.”

“It would also be logical to expect that I’m hiding somewhere safe,” Castiel says. “Anna’s cottage, maybe. Or the sheriff’s office.”

“Does Lucifer know that? Does he know you?”

Castiel pauses. “I’m not sure. We’ve never met. At least, not since I was a child.”

“That’s interesting,” Victor says thoughtfully. “I didn’t get to meet him at Stanford myself, but you hear things. He’s probably heard things about you, too. It’s not hard to form an idea based on what people are saying.”

“I doubt the so-called love story of me and Dean is of much strategic use,” Castiel says dryly.

“Not the love story,” Victor says, without a trace of sarcasm. “But what’s just under it. The plotting and planning to make it happen. The kind of personalities necessary to make it play it out effectively. I made an idea based on what I heard, too, way before I met you.”

Castiel shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Victor gives him a disbelieving look. “You are totally sincere in saying that.”

“Yes?” Castiel sighs. “Dean makes that face at me sometimes, too. I suppose I should be used to it by now, though it doesn’t make it any less frustrating when I don’t immediately understand its meaning.”

Victor’s mouth quirks. “That happen a lot with you and Dean?”

“Not as much as it used to. I’m getting better at understanding him.”

“Hey now, I’ve known him for _years_ and I don’t always understand that guy,” Victor says. “I always trust him to have my back, but sometimes when he goes left field I’m left wondering what else he’s got rattling around that head of his. Like… you. I didn’t – I couldn’t tell that what he felt for you was the real deal. That’s on me.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, surprised. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Victor says. “I’m here to make up for it, so it’s cool.”

Castiel scowls. “That… makes me uncomfortable.”

“Look,” Victor says with a sigh, “you’re going to be in Dean’s life for a long, long time. Which means you’re going to be in the periphery of _my_ life for a long, long time, so I need to make this square – for you, and for me. I’d settled on an idea of who you were, and I was wrong, and it’s my job to make that right.”

“To be fair,” Castiel says, “practically everyone comes to the wrong conclusions about me. I would call it a gift, except I can’t direct it in any way that would be actually beneficial to me.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best.” Victor shakes his head, chuckling under his breath.

Castiel thinks he acquitted himself quite well; he didn’t stutter or say anything embarrassing in response to Victor’s confidence in the longevity of Dean and Castiel’s relationship. It’s nice (damned nice) to hear it stated so matter-of-factly, and by someone Castiel doesn’t know that well. It makes what he and Dean have feel more solid, in a way that gives it more strength to thrive in the outside world.

That said, there’s something Victor just implied that tugs at Castiel’s curiosity, and he has to ask. “So, Victor. Dean acts differently around me? Surely he must have… been attached to other people in the past.”

“Whoa there.” Victor holds his hands up. “There is no way that line of conversation can go anywhere but to my doom.”

“You just said you have to make this square.”

Victor snorts. “Oh, is that how it is?”

Seized by a sudden thought, Castiel says, “Or… you could tell me how Dean’s been doing after Ilchester?” When Victor frowns in confusion, Castiel adds, “He has talked about the things that have happened and the places he’s been, but there are… at least, I have the _feeling_ that there are gaps in what he’s told me. Which is fine, I wouldn’t want him to relive the difficulties he’s been through, but it would make me feel better to know that he’s… okay. Does that make sense?”

To Castiel’s surprise, Victor turns away and smiles. It is a warm, affectionate smile, and meant for Dean. “Yeah, Dean had some low moments, but I can tell you, with full honesty, that he always had someone watching his back. More importantly, he’s doing much better now.”

“Good,” Castiel says. “That’s good.”

“If you ask me, you’re his happy place, so to speak, and he doesn’t want to bring in all that ‘other’ stuff when he’s with you. So if he doesn’t wanna talk about it, don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t, but…” Castiel frowns. “All that ‘other’ stuff is the rest of his life.”

“Exactly. That’s Dean for you.”

“I have such a long way to go,” Castiel says wistfully.

“Nah, you’re doing fine.” Then, in a very different tone, “Oh, hey.”

Castiel looks over his shoulder. Through the window he can see the afternoon’s first rush of schoolchildren in their bright yellow uniforms heading their way, which would usually be cause for Castiel to check the status of the slurpee machine.

But more important than that is the car that’s rolled into the station. It’s one of Bobby’s, though it’s Kevin who steps out of the driver’s seat to approach the store. He sees Castiel and Victor through the window, and his expression has them both immediately jumping to their feet.

 

* * *

 

 

The search team has found Lucifer. To be specific, two members of Dean’s search team found Lucifer’s camp in the woods, were spotted, and fled when a werewolf sentry attacked them. Everyone’s okay, and the worst of the injuries are but scratches (which Castiel will only believe once he sees them for himself).

Kevin says that he wasn’t involved in the action, but after they’d regrouped safely, Dean briefed him and sent him with the car to pick up Castiel and Victor. The hunters have apparently retreated to the town hall, where they’re waiting for reinforcements.

“The mayor’s about to call in the emergency,” Kevin says. “That was a while ago, though, I don’t know the latest.”

“Didn’t you already set up camp at Anna’s cottage?” Castiel asks. “Why did you move?”

“You can’t exactly make a stand in someone’s garden,” Kevin says. “Uh, not that we’re going to make a stand, Lucifer’s not going to… We don’t know anything for sure, right? But the MO is always to set up base camp somewhere you can defend. Plus Bobby was able to negotiate for better hardware from the sheriff’s office. Anna’s got some great gear in her place, but it’s not enough.”

“But Rexford is spread out,” Castiel says. “There are houses, settlements, all over the mountain. The town is just the hub, so how will your being there help protect these people?”

“Um—”

“Shouldn’t you be fortifying the place?” Castiel says. “Since you know where Lucifer’s camp is, shouldn’t you be minding that possible line of entry?”

“Castiel,” Victor says. “Kevin doesn’t make the decisions.”

“I suppose, but... Right. Yes.” Castiel takes a steadying breath. “I apologize.”

Kevin has little else to share, so Castiel has to wait until they arrive at the town hall before he can glean more answers. Castiel’s seen the Rexford administration building many times during his outings to town – usually to the library – but it has never been swarming with activity as it is now. People bustle to and fro, talking loudly, giving orders, carrying supplies, while civilians look on with concern and/or huddle around the deputies who appear to be explaining the situation.

What has infected the other towns in this time of crisis has finally found its way to Rexford.

Castiel finds Dean inside the building, where the hunters have been billeted in the largest hall. Here, too, furniture is being moved around and equipment carried in. Kevin rushes off from Castiel’s side to a corner that is in the process of being set up as a communications station. Anna, to Castiel’s surprise, is already there wrestling with cables.

“So,” Castiel says, when Dean looks up at his approach, “is this what it looks like when there’s a call to arms?”

Dean’s mouth quirks. “Usually it’s much cooler.”

“Are you hurt?”

“You offering to kiss it better?” Dean’s grin fades at Castiel’s responding expression. “No, Cas, I’m not hurt. I went running in when I heard the SOS, helped give chase but didn’t get to engage. We fell back before it was even an inch beyond an awkward skirmish. Okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel says. “I believe you. What’s the next step?”

“We’re waiting for Jo’s team. She said she can make it tonight but it’s not a sure thing. Once we have them we’re going on the offensive. Until then, we’re strengthening the base, discussing our options.”

“What about the town?” Castiel asks.

“Mayor’s got that covered.” Dean jerks his head to the side, drawing Castiel’s attention where Sheriff Osborne is addressing a small group of serious-faced townsfolk. Dean says, “They’re going door-to-door, giving the heads up.”

“Good,” Castiel says. “I’ll go with them.”

“Whoa there—”

Castiel is startled by Dean’s grabbing his elbow, his strong grip stopping Castiel in his tracks. “I want to go with them,” Castiel says. “I can help fortify houses, if people want it.”

“Lucifer is here for _you_ ,” Dean says. “You really think you should be running around when that’s happening?”

“That just tells me how much important it is I be out there.”

Dean double-takes. “What’s that?”

“Rexford is in danger because of me,” Castiel says. “This town has been an oasis of calm, and it would have continued in that state if I were not here. I have a responsibility—”

“No, _no_ ,” Dean says angrily, taking Castiel’s hands and holding them firmly between his, “this is on Lucifer, not you. Cas, please. Like you keep on reminding me, I was at Stanford, I saw what he can do. Let us take care of this.”

Castiel squares his shoulders. Dean’s eyes are pleading, but Castiel does not flinch. “Or _I_ could take care of it. It’s the easiest thing – I leave.”

“He’ll go after you,” Dean says. “If he cares as much as you think, he’ll come for you no matter where you are, and it’ll be just some other town that gets in the way. Here, though. We can make a stand here, ‘cause the mayor, the sheriff – they know us, they can work with us. Heck, they know _you_ , you’re one of ‘em.”

There is sense in what Dean’s saying, but his priorities are different, his view of the situation different. He isn’t even seeing what Castiel meant when he said that he could leave.

A stray, treacherous thought curls through Castiel’s mind. He could nod, concede, give way to Dean’s opinions on what is best, and then… act anyway. Dean might even understand, eventually. He did, after all, make logical choices back during their honeymoon, focusing on solid goals over uncertain feelings.

Perhaps Castiel will never outgrow this type of thinking. Maybe this instinct to dissemble, woven into him from so many years living under the power of others, will never truly go away. But Castiel has the choice to move away from that, and to cultivate new practices that may at first seem terrifying and contrary to every lesson he’d been forced to learn growing up.

It’s sad that Castiel has to consciously think about this. That he has to remind himself that love comes with trust, and he should trust his husband for that. Sadder still is the way Dean’s looking at Castiel now, all worried and impatient and holding back the shouting Castiel knows he’s capable of. Dean’s trying hard to learn new behaviors as well.

“Actually,” Castiel says, steeling himself for another argument, “when I said ‘leave’, I meant I could go and meet Lucifer.”

Dean’s face contorts hilariously. “For coffee and pie?”

“He wants to talk to me, doesn’t he? His agent said that’s what he wanted.”

“You do know that ‘talk’ is, like, a euphemism.”

“It could also actually mean ‘talk’,” Castiel points out. “He put our badges side by side. That shows he’s at least willing to act as though we’re equal. Maybe in talking we can learn what he really wants.”

“You wanna parley?” Dean says. “Like, for serious? My guys just got scratched up by his weres.”

“Because you attacked his camp.”

Dean blinks. “I did what now?”

“That’s a spin he can use,” Castiel says. “You attacked first, so he was justified in defending himself. It’ll go round in circles from there.”

“Ilchester, again,” Dean says flatly.

“Everything, again.” Castiel runs a hand up and down Dean’s arm gently, while Dean rolls his eyes at the world. “You have your tasks, and I’m not going to get in the way of that. But I need to do something as well.”

“Ugh.” Dean makes a face, but it doesn’t seem to be an outright angry anymore. “Yeah, yeah, you always need to do something. But can it be something that doesn’t involve your running around out there? Please?”

“Are you honestly still trying to tell me what to do?”

“No, my sweet baboo, light of my life, pain in my butt, I’m asking if you’ll consider it.” Dean takes Castiel’s hand – the one that had been stroking his arm – and lifts it up, pressing his lips against his knuckles. “If you wanna parley, fine, but that’s not something you can do walking straight in to Lucifer’s camp. You need, um. How does Michael do it? There’s a process or something, right?”

“The negotiator should have a list of terms to discuss,” Castiel says. “The town’s terms.”

“How about that?” Dean asks. “Can you do that instead?”

Castiel’s gaze drifts off to the side. Kevin and Anna appear to be in a heated discussion over the radios, Osborne and Victor are poring over a large map, while Tara and a pair of unfamiliar townsfolk are arranging salt rounds on a table. There are other locals here as well, such as the young people who are carrying in boxes of supplies under Bobby’s supervision, and the harassed-looking clerk who’s writing notes frantically on a clipboard.

“Who’s in charge here?” Castiel asks.

“Who the hell knows at this point,” Dean says. “I think it’s me? Or Bobby, maybe? I’m not sure who’s talking to the mayor, though.”

“I’ll do it,” Castiel says. “I need to know that we’re not overstepping our boundaries. If there’s a chance to open talks with Lucifer, the town must have a say.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, do that.” When Castiel narrows his eyes, Dean adds quickly, “I’m totally not saying that just ‘cause I’m happy to have talked you out of the other thing. Me and the guys, we’re strangers here. You and Anna are… not.”

“I’m going to talk to Osborne, and then to the mayor,” Castiel says. “I’m sure you have many preparations to deal with.”

“Wait, take this.” Dean rustles through his pockets, pulling out a hand-held radio that he presses into Castiel’s hand. “That’s for you, if you need to get ahold of me or anyone else. Channel’s set to a band we’re sharing with the sheriff’s department, plus the town watch.”

“Thank you.”

After a last squeeze of each other’s hands, Castiel turns and starts heading towards Osborne, who looks up as he approaches.

It’s fine that Dean’s priorities are not Castiel’s own. It just means that Castiel has to fill that gap, which he can.

 

* * *

 

 

The town of Rexford is made of hardy people. Like Anna and Nora told Castiel before, Rexford is not like the ancient fortified towns that first bloomed along the highways and rivers. This town was carved out of the mountainside by people who craved its distance and difficult access, and those who moved here did so for various reasons of their own. It is a town with a keen sense of self.

Castiel manages to talk to Mayor Case – who is in the square conversing with her people – about his regret of what’s happened, but she’s more concerned on making sure everyone knows what’s happening and is allowed to decide on how they respond. If that means people barricading themselves in their own homes, or falling back to the town hall and putting their safety directly in her hands, then so be it, she will deal with them all.

“We have resources to survive if we’re cut off from our normal access routes,” Case tells him. “It’s happened before, we know what to do.”

“But if Lucifer makes his way in…”

“That’s what your hunter friends are here for, yes?” Case says. “I was told there are more on the way, and I’m going to assume that Lucifer’s high priority status means that Harvelle will deliver on that front.”

“What about your sheriff’s department?” Castiel asks.

“My uniforms?” Case says in surprise. “You do know how big our department is, right?”

“I’ve been sharing some of my knowledge of protection craft,” Castiel says, to which Case just nods, this apparently not being news to her. “So I was thinking, perhaps I can share what I know of more… proactive tactics.”

Mayor Case levels him with a long, speculative look. “You mean weaponized spells.”

“Yes. It’s allowed in emergency situations, I believe.”

“Not everyone has the mental will to do aggressive casting. You’ll need volunteers.”

Castiel perks up. “You’re agreeable?”

“Not yet,” she says firmly. “If Lucifer shows his hand to be an unfriendly, then yes, but for now, I don’t want to hear you offering anything under the table. Last thing we need is people getting trigger-happy.”

“Yes, noted, thank you.”

“And keep yourself visible,” Case adds. “Gives folks here a reminder what we’re doing this for.”

“Um.” Castiel blinks rapidly, bewildered by the mayor’s faint snort. “This is your home. _That’s_ what you’re doing this for.”

“Yes, but symbols are useful, too.” Mayor Case gestures behind her, where the courthouse stands guard over the town square and its rows of flat-roofed shops and establishments. “This is our home, and I believe we carry the courage to defend ourselves. But you – you remind us that we are part of a bigger picture as well. You and your husband are living evidence that the things we’ve been seeing on TV, listening on the radio – they touch us, and we touch them right back.”

Castiel nods. “It takes a certain kind of heart to make a home in the mountains.”

Mayor Case inclines her head in agreement. “It does.”

“So if I get the chance to talk it out with Lucifer, you would wish to participate?”

“If Mr. Winchester can get him to make contact, yes, I’d very much appreciate it,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm – directed towards Lucifer, Castiel knows. “And, thank you. If you can talk out a solution, that’d be best for everyone.”

“Yes,” Castiel says slowly. “Of course.”

Mayor Case gives him a look. “What is it?”

“I have a feeling that you were about to call me ‘Your Lordship’ just then,” Castiel says. “There was a slight pause there.”

For a second Mayor Case appears about to argue that point, but then she shakes her head says, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. For now you’re one of mine, and you’re going to do your part in keeping our town secure. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, Madam Mayor,” Castiel says.

The conversation is interrupted when Castiel’s radio, clipped to his belt, crackles to life with Kevin’s voice, “ _Dean, there’s a call for you on the wire, over. Sounds pretty urgent, over._ ”

Castiel excuses himself – Mayor Case has plenty of other people to talk to, anyway – and heads back to the town hall, where Kevin, Anna and Maggie are seated around the now-more-complete radio station. Three tables have been pushed together, on top of which are all sorts of electronic hardware pieces that Castiel cannot name, aside from the microphones and speakers.

Castiel hopes that the urgent news is Jo’s imminent arrival.

“Oh, hey, Cas!” Kevin says. “Maybe you can take – we don’t know where Dean is, but it’s Sam on the line.”

“Sam?” Castiel accepts the headset Anna hands over, slipping it on and adjusting the microphone close to his mouth. “Hello?

“ _Uh—_ ” Sam says.

“Sorry, this is Castiel. We’re trying to find Dean but he’s—”

Maggie, who has a pair of headphones on as well, quickly mouths, “He’s on the roof, coming down now.”

“—he’s coming down now,” Castiel amends. “Are you pressed for time?”

“ _Oh, oh hey! Cas! Wow, hi, it’s good to hear you. How are you?_ ”

“I’m good, thank you,” Castiel says. “As far as the situation allows it, though I suppose we’re both in similar straits.”

Sam snort-laughs. “ _That’s a way to put it. Jo there yet?_ ”

“No, not yet.” Castiel carefully sits down on the stool Anna’s pulled out for him. “It’s still something of a mess here, there’s very little information to go on. How are things where you are?”

“ _More of the same,_ ” Sam says. “ _But it’s, um… Wow, it really is so great to hear you, Cas. We didn’t have much time before, and it’s… You helped a lot, and not just in helping get me back to my family, you know? I owe you._ ”

“No, you don’t,” Castiel says. “Just hang in there for a moment, Dean should be here soon.”

“ _No, this is fine. Actually, this is better, this is perfect. I don’t have much time, we’re heading for the block now, the Council’s getting together, but I just wanted to say, um…_ ”

“Wait, Dean should be—”

“ _You guys just hang in there, okay? We’re doing everything we can, and something’s gotta stick_.”

Castiel frowns. “Is something wrong? Is Ellen—”

“ _Don’t worry about us, we got it covered_.” Sam says this with a firm sense of finality. It’s natural that Sam’s side knows things they can’t share over the wire for fear of the wrong people listening in, but Castiel has to clamp down on his demands to know more. Sam says, his voice lowered, “ _Can you get out of there?_ ”

“I doubt I can teleport the whole town.”

“ _No, I mean… Never mind, it’s fine, I’m sure you’ve got it under control. Just be safe, and make sure Dean doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?_ ”

“I have yet to cultivate the skills for that, but I can try.”

“ _Good. And, um. Tell Dean I love him, okay? Me, Mom and Dad, we love him, and we’ll see him soon. Oh, and you, too! Mom and Dad are so looking forward to our first awkward family dinner together, it’s gonna be great._ ”

“You can tell your brother yourself—”

“ _I really have to go now. Bye._ ”

“Sam, wait, you can’t end it like that,” Castiel says. “Sam? Sam, please, your brother’s here, he’s running this way right now, he’s going to be so disappointed if he went through all the effort of coming down here to talk to you and you’re not... here.”

Castiel trails off when Dean skids to a halt at the radio station, panting for breath. “C’mere,” he says, but Castiel just shakes his head.

“He’s disconnected,” Castiel says. “I told him you were coming, but he seemed quite determined to end the call.”

“What? He ended the…” Dean snaps his fingers impatiently, prompting Kevin to hand over another set of headphones. Castiel leans back while Dean fiddles with the knobs on the radio, saying, “Sam, I’m here. Sam, Sammy, come in, I’m here, you got something to say to me? Sam?”

There’s a few tense minutes of plucking at dials and growling into the microphone before Dean gives up with a curse. Castiel waits until a suitable time has passed before saying, “He said to tell you that he and your parents all love you.”

“Oh, is that all?” Dean snaps.

Anna touches Castiel’s arm. “What did he sound like?”

“Certain,” Castiel says. “Anxious, but determined.”

“Ah,” Dean says, nodding furiously. “Kid’s just about to do something stupid.”

“He said they’re going to see the Council, though he didn’t specify who ‘they’ are.” Castiel relays everything else Sam said, though Dean’s just face just gets less and less impressed the more Castiel speaks, and at the end of it he throws his hands in the air.

“So they’re pulling something out of their asses and hoping it pays off,” Dean says. “Why’d he even bother to call if he’s just going to be so goddamned vague about it?”

“I think… to draw strength?” Castiel says. “If I could send tidings to a loved one before making a decisive move, I would.”

“Then why wouldn’t he wait for _me_?”

“You’d yell at him for being stupid, and then your last words to each other would be angry ones.”

Dean’s mouth opens, probably to say something to the point of his being deeply offended, but he seems to change his mind. He turns away, jaw clenched, and Castiel can almost see the various nightmare scenarios rolling around Dean’s head.

“You can go, you know,” Castiel says.

Dean swivels his head back around to glare at Castiel. “What?”

“If you fear Sam’s about to do something foolish, you can go to him,” Castiel says. “We can manage here, and Jo should be joining us soon.”

“You know what,” Dean says, holding a hand out as though to block Castiel’s face, “that is the opposite of helping.”

“I just thought I’d point out—”

“Yeah, and what?” Dean says. “By the time I get there whatever they’ve already done whatever it is they’re wanting to do, and I gotta live with my _abandoning_ you? Thanks but no thanks, I’m gonna go check on the relay on the roof.”

Dean storms off, and Kevin asks quietly if he should try patching in to their other contacts in the capital to see if they can learn something. Anna and Maggie confer on that suggestion, which is a good suggestion, but Castiel’s still focused on Dean and the way he’s stomping a warpath across the hall, people backing out of his way as he goes.

“Excuse me,” Castiel says, standing up.

He has to run to catch up with him, and then he has a few seconds to catch his breath while Dean eyes him warily.

“What?” Dean says.

“I just…” Castiel makes a helpless gesture. “I believe Sam didn’t make the call to distress you.”

Dean sighs. “Cas—”

“He could’ve just as easily not contacted you at all,” Castiel points out. “He could have just done whatever it is he wishes to do, but he didn’t. It was important to him to make sure that this message was relayed to you. He said that they have it covered, and I think that means he’s asking you to trust him. That he believes in what he’s doing.”

At least Dean doesn’t look like he’s about to take a swing at anybody anymore. If anything, he just seems exhausted, resigned. “You were just saying that Sam might do something dumb for me – for us – now that Lucifer’s on our back porch. Gold star for you.”

“But he’s not alone, as you said,” Castiel says. “He is with your parents. Hell, he could be working with Ellen, whatever it is she has planned.”

“We don’t know that Ellen has _anything_ planned.”

“You’re right, we don’t. But… this is what it is. I’ll bet that Sam feels just as helpless as you do, if not more so, for his inability to rend heaven and earth to reach you and fix the mistakes he’s done with Lucifer.”

Dean’s head jerks sideways a little, as though in an aborted motion of disagreement. He isn’t yelling at Castiel to mind his own business, though, so Castiel steps forward and places his hands on Dean’s forearms, hoping that the touch is reassuring. Truth be told, Castiel doesn’t know what he hopes to achieve here. It’s fine that Dean worries and shall keep on worrying about his family; it’s not like that is ever going to change. But Castiel feels compelled to do this anyway, to just… be here.

“Would you like a hug?” Castiel asks hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Dean snaps. “Right now would be good.”

Castiel opens his arms. For a second he hovers there awkwardly, but then Dean’s dropping forward, head coming to rest next to Castiel’s, shoulders dipped just enough that Castiel can wrap his arms around them firmly. Dean sighs, and Castiel cups a hand at the back of Dean’s head, holding him close.

“I know, I know,” Dean says, his voice slightly muffled. “Gotta keep focused on what we got right here.”

“We break down the problem into manageable chunks,” Castiel says. “Then deal with them one at a time.”

Dean grunts what sounds like an agreement, and then pulls back abruptly. He has a scowl on and seems to want to look at anywhere except Castiel, which is why it’s a surprise when he kisses Castiel quickly – a firm press of lips that Castiel barely has time to react to – before pulling away and trudging off.

This time Castiel watches him go without moving from his spot. Dean may still be angry, but that exchange was better, somehow. Yes, Castiel thinks, Dean’ll be fine.

 

* * *

 

 

By sunset, the base is set-up and its inhabitants become restless in their waiting. Tara especially wants to take a small reconnaissance team to check in on Lucifer’s camp, if it’s still there. They only had a glimpse earlier, and it would be better to know if it’s worth jumping at shadows at all at this point.

“I think we can spare ‘em,” Bobby says.

Dean’s mouth is pinched. “I’m not too hot ‘bout them getting the squeeze on us, but it’d be good to get some intel.”

“Take at least one of Osborne’s deputies with you,” Castiel says. “It’s always good to have a local. And if you, by some chance, are able to talk to one of Lucifer’s followers, tell them that I’m open to negotiations with Lucifer. Take my seal.” He’s already sketched out a few cards with his seal on them for this very purpose, and hands one over.

“Yeah, do that,” Dean says. “Tara?”

“Will do.” Tara pockets the seal and touches her forelock in a casual salute. “We’ll be in touch, chief.”

It would be tremendous if they can resolve the situation at a conference table. Yet Castiel knows Lucifer’s purpose cannot be so simple, not if he’d slapped his badge on a building, albeit it a common, unimportant building on the edge of town. (But ah, Castiel’s insidious brain reminds him, the Gas-n-Sip _isn’t_ an unimportant building, for it is one that Castiel has already unofficially claimed for himself.)

What can Castiel even offer Lucifer at this point? Lucifer has to know that there’s no way Castiel’s interested in taking the Republic for himself, not when he’s married to one of its citizens. And if Lucifer hopes that Castiel will be a useful ally in taking down Michael, he’s setting himself up for a hearty disappointment.

There’s something Castiel’s missing. Something he hasn’t spotted yet.

It’s all the more frustrating this time because Dean and his allies actually are by Castiel’s side this time – what they know, Castiel knows, and still Castiel doesn’t know enough.

“Hey,” Anna says quietly, her voice cutting through Castiel’s thoughts. “Are you sure it’s on?”

“It is,” Kevin replies quietly. “I – I think it is? It is.”

Castiel, standing close enough to the radio station, overhears this and turns towards them. “What is it?”

“Um.” Kevin licks his lips and exchanges a quick look with Anna. “The nightly broadcast should’ve started by now.”

Castiel grabs Kevin’s wrist, reading the time off his watch. In all the commotion he’d forgotten about the nightly transmission but, yes, it should’ve started by now. No one else seems to have noticed this yet either; most people are eating dinner, or in Dean and Bobby’s case arguing over the map of the town.

“Keep checking,” Castiel says. “Failing that, see if you can contact Charlie’s team directly.”

They can’t. Kevin, Maggie and Anna are experts at this, and they can’t get through. Maggie in particular seems bewildered by this, because it was only a scant few hours ago they were in constant back-and-forth with the main station in the capital, plus there was Sam’s call, crisp and clear and unhindered over the airwaves.

“Are we being blocked?” Castiel asks. “Can you find out?”

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, wandering over to their corner. “Don’t hold out on me now.”

“Bulletin’s not getting through, boss,” Maggie says, flicking switches on the dashboard. “As far as I can tell, we’re reading everything properly, but it’s not there.”

“All stations go silent for the one hour – half-hour showtime, plus the fifteen minutes before and after,” Dean says, mostly for Castiel’s benefit. “But there was nothing wrong earlier, right? Patch it through to… who’s closest? Turner. Get Turner’s, or start working your way out from there. Kevin, open it up, see if anyone else’s talking.”

By now Bobby and a handful of others have drifted over as well, forming a loose wall of forced patience as the radio team does their work. Castiel stands close by Anna, a hand on her shoulder as she searches for the wayward transmission.

After a while, Kevin raises his hand. “Um.”

“You got something?” Dean says.

Kevin nods, frowns, and presses his earphones tighter around his head. Various emotions pass over his face – confusion, disbelief, and then the wide-eyed worry of someone who doesn’t understand what it is he’s about to say but knows that he has to say it regardless.

“Uh, so,” Kevin says. “They’re saying that Michael’s taken St. Lebanon.”

“What’s that now?” Bobby barks.

“Michael,” Kevin says slowly, “has taken control of the capital. Supposedly.”

“I’ve got Jo!” Maggie exclaims. She quickly pulls her headset off and passes it to Dean, who slips it on.

“Hey,” Dean says, pulling the microphone close to his mouth. “Talk to me, what’s happening out there? What? Yeah, we’re set up here, not a peep from – yeah.” Dean’s frown deepens. “You sure? How sure. No, we got it. For fuck’s sake, don’t apologize for that. You kick ass, y’hear. Yeah. Roger that.”

Bobby waits until Dean has passed the headset back to Maggie before saying, “Ain’t no news but good news.”

“On the bright side, Mike’s finally shown his hand.” Dean laughs, a little bitterly, and clasps Castiel’s shoulder. “Now everyone knows how small his dick is.”

“Dean,” Castiel says.

“He’s been calling in his troops, right?” Dean says. “They’ve been clearing out from all over the place, supposedly because they’re done chasing Lucifer and heading back home? Well, surprise! They’ve taken the St. Leb as a souvenir first.”

“And Jo?” Bobby says.

“Stopped moving as soon as she felt something off,” Dean says. “It’s a good call, she’s heading there now.”

While the others continue the discussion, Castiel is still processing the news. So at long last, Michael has put his neat little diplomatic lies aside and put his intentions on display. Castiel feels a surge of sudden anger – Ellen _knew_ this, he and Dean warned her about it – but then shakes his head to clear that away. Castiel doesn’t know what’s happening out there, what other dangers Ellen must navigate, or what has spurred Michael on to take his step from which there is no turning back.

“So,” Castiel says, in a lull between Dean and Bobby’s arguing. “We’re alone, then. We have no back-up in facing Lucifer.”

Bobby exhales loudly. “Looks that way.”

“All right.” Castiel nods. “I’ll notify the mayor, and you two, or all of you, I suppose, you need to rethink your strategy. However it is you wish to neutralize Lucifer, it has to be done with the resources we have now.”

“Should we call Tara back?” Kevin asks.

“She should know about the situation,” Castiel says. “But we still need information on the size of Lucifer’s camp, so they can still proceed if they can manage their safety.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, sounds good. Maggie, keep searching, see if you can find anyone on the move nearby who can join us. Don’t clear out Turner’s yet, we may need them to hold that side if Lucifer makes a run for it. For now…” Dean raises his handheld to his mouth and, after exchanging a quick, exasperated look with Castiel, presses the button. “Listen up, y’all, this is an evening special, hot off the presses…”

Castiel closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets Dean’s words wash over him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sexual content:** Frottage, semi-public sex.

There’s no question about returning to the cottage tonight. Castiel joins Dean and his hunter friends (plus Anna) who’ve made themselves at home in the hall, everyone claiming spots for themselves and their supplies. Castiel and Dean have their corner by the wall, tucked near the water canisters. Although they have their separate sleeping bags, they keep them only partially zipped up, thus leaving enough space to touch each other through them.

It’s a decent arrangement, and so Castiel is surprised when he wakes up the next morning and Dean isn’t next to him. His first reaction is annoyance, and then alarm. He sits up.

“Dean?”

It’s early enough that the night lanterns are still on and the various sleeping bags still occupied. But there are also a handful of people standing near the main double doors, bodies bent towards each other in conversation. Castiel blinks to clear his sleep-addled eyes, recognizes the body language of one of those standing figures, and relaxes.

Dean comes over while Castiel is setting their rolled-up sleeping bags aside. Dean’s wide awake and fully-dressed, so he’s probably been up for a while. “Hey,” Dean says, his voice low. “Lucifer made a move last night.”

Castiel looks up sharply. “What did he do?”

“Sent a wave against the south border—”

“Near the main access roads?”

“Yeah, there. Marked up a bunch more buildings along that line, with both badges like before. One of the patrol teams found them, managed to push them back. Or maybe they were always planning to go back, we don’t know.”

“Anyone hurt?”

Dean grimaces. “Yeah. We got ‘em covered though, everyone’s been brought in safely.”

Castiel nods. “What kind of creatures did Lucifer send?”

“Mostly human, but with one werewolf and one thing they don’t know what it was, but it bit through salt-laced fencing.”

“There are a few possibilities for that one.” Castiel stands up and takes a deep breath. All right, so Lucifer is still pressing his case. He must have at least some radio access, too, so it’s likely that he knows that Michael and the rest of Ellen’s forces are focused on the capital, leaving Rexford alone. It’s going to be another long day ahead, if they’re lucky. “What about Tara? Did she manage to pass my message?”

“No,” Dean says. “They’ve moved their camp, and she didn’t want go looking without support.”

“All right. What are your plans now?”

“I don’t know, was thinking of getting some breakfast.” Dean leans in a little, whispering, “You might wanna brush your teeth first, too.”

Castiel turns the edges of his mouth down sadly. “Do you not find me sexy in this condition?”

Dean grins. “Not when we’re sharing communal space with, like, a dozen other people.” He brushes his hand along the back of Castiel’s neck. “Let’s get some grub in first, then we can think a little better. There’s not much we can do with a small crew, so we gotta make it count.”

There is wisdom in that. Castiel even gets some thinking done while performing his morning ablutions in the hall’s communal bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

This is what they know so far: Lucifer is nearby, and wishes to make contact with Castiel. Whatever Lucifer’s intentions may be, Castiel and Dean’s only goal is to take him into custody.

Elsewhere, in the capital, Michael has made his move against the Republic government, just as they knew he would. This news was a bomb of frustration last night, but in the light of day it’s clear that there’s not much they can do about it but trust that Ellen and the other Houses will finally, _finally_ rally together to kick the king out. More interesting is the possibility that Lucifer knew that this would happen, hence his timing of coming after Castiel just when Dean would not be able to call for help.

It’s Anna who voices this worry out loud, during their working breakfast. “Is it possible that Lucifer knew this was going to happen? That he timed this?”

Bobby makes a thoughtful sound. “He may still have contacts in the capital.”

“Well, so do we,” Dean says. “We just need to keep knocking on the door there. How’s that going, by the way?”

“Weird,” Kevin says. Maggie, who’d taken the night shift, is sleeping it off, leaving Kevin their radio head this morning. “It’s open all the way to Howard, but beyond that it’s full comms blackout, even on what should be our safe channels. I’m thinking it might be self-inflicted.”

Dean frowns. “We might be compromised?”

“Could be,” Kevin says. “If Michael’s listening in, our peeps in St. Leb are going to have to close everything down and go old school.”

Dean sighs. “Okay. Keep your ears peeled, and, uh… watch what you say. But more than that, I want you to keep looking for Lucifer’s channel. He may be listening in, but he could also be talking, and if he is, I want to know what he’s saying.”

This snags Castiel’s attention. “Could we broadcast a message to Lucifer that way? Let him know I want to parley?”

“You can,” Dean says, “but that would out him as an eavesdropper, if he cares about that. But hey, maybe he doesn’t. Bobby?”

“It doesn’t need anyone wandering around the woods,” Bobby says. “Good enough a reason to try.”

Although Castiel feels he should have more silver on him, he’s fine with wielding a binder for now. There are sheets of paper in said binder – shared from the supply the Kevin, Maggie and Anna use to scribble their notes – and yesterday’s long night of work means that it’s now partially filled with parley notes and terms. Castiel opens the binder again now, ready to scribble out something for Kevin to put on the air.

“It’ll be good way to get him out in the open, get a clear look at him,” Dean agrees. “That was tough enough at Stanford.”

Castiel looks up in alarm. “You can’t ambush him during parley. That’s something Michael would do.”

“No, not anything like that,” Dean says quickly. “If we can get this done by talking, it’s great. But if we _can’t_ , then we should at least can get ourselves in a good position before it all goes sideways.”

“Dean—”

“Not pre-emptive,” Dean insists. “Just… covering our bases. C’mon, Michael got his beachhead in the first place ‘cause Ellen kept on acting in good faith despite all of them alarm bells screaming.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And nothing I saw in Stanford has me thinking Lucifer’s gonna give a flying fuck about your code of conduct. It’s something Michael would do? It’s something his kid brother would do, too, and we gotta be prepared for that.”

Castiel knows that his face has contorted into a frown, because it’s mirrored in the look that Dean’s giving him now – determined and challenging. Castiel knows little about Lucifer’s tactics, and it’s irritating that he has to concede to Dean’s experience on this. Castiel can also hear what Dean isn’t saying, i.e. if they’re not prepared for a double-cross, it’s Rexford that’s going to suffer.

“Fine,” Castiel says at last. “You do that, but don’t give Lucifer any reason to say that we struck first. Understand?”

Dean inclines his head. “Got it.”

 

* * *

 

 

There’s only so much preparation for parley that they can do. Terms, location and action plan may be agreed upon, but there’s no guarantee that Lucifer will accept at all. Hence, the only other things they can do are the things they’ve been doing already: trying to find Lucifer’s current location, and fortifying the town.

Late in the morning, Dean heads off with the search parties again – hunters and locals forming small groups to cover as much area as possible. Anna has her own place to be at the radio station, and this leaves Castiel somewhat free to his own devices.

The choice being his, Castiel spends some time in the town hospital, visiting the people who were hurt in last night’s raid. It’s presumptuous of him, he knows, but he feels that he should see for himself the results of Lucifer’s presence. Apparently the prince thinks that the ways of the wilderness apply here.

The medical staff don’t seem to mind Castiel’s presence, perhaps in part because Bobby is here as well, talking to some of the townsfolk and getting statements about what they’d seen. Luckily, there are less than a dozen patients, most of them with minor cuts and burns. Some of them – the younger ones, mostly – seem quietly excited to see Castiel, which reminds him of what Mayor Case said yesterday. Castiel should be used by now to being seen as something greater than what he actually is, but no, it’s still strange as hell.

Mostly, Castiel is relieved to see that the hospital staff have everything under control, though there is an air of expectation about them. A subtle bracing for impact, as it were.

That same feeling has spilled out into the town square as well, where folk from the farther settlements are coming in, setting up camp around their vehicles or any other available space. It’s nowhere near as crowded as Turner Estate, thank goodness for Rexford’s relative isolation, but there’s also the worrying fact of… Rexford’s relative isolation.

That thought is the one that compels Castiel to visit the Gas-n-Sip, Victor in tow (officially, because Castiel still needs a bodyguard, and unofficially, because Victor has access to a car). Castiel’s not actually sure whether the store is open, because of the curfew, though Nora did tell him yesterday that she doesn’t expect him to come in for work.

“What are you thinking?” Victor asks.

“Supplies,” Castiel says. “Lucifer needs them, and it’s unlikely that he’ll push into the heart of town to get them.”

“So he’ll pick off the edges.” Victor nods. “That did cross my mind, but I figured it wouldn’t be a problem for a while. Lucifer’s group can’t be that big, and he must’ve been stealing supplies on the way here. At this point, any raids he has must be more to intimidate than to steal.”

“Even so.”

It’s a relief to arrive at the Gas-n-Sip and see for himself that it’s in good order. The only things that are unusual are that the store’s front door is propped open, Nora’s SUV is parked nearby, and a handful of familiar townsfolk are carrying things from one to the other.

Nora is inside the store itself, supervising the volunteers who are moving items from the shelves. She’s even brought baby Tanya this time, who’s resting inside her carrier while Lila coos over her. Her usual carer must be busy today, understandably. Nora is surprised to see Castiel and Victor, and then grateful for another pair of hands.

“Someone messed with the pumps last night, took some of the gas,” Nora tells Castiel. “Don’t know for sure if it’s, you know, _them_. It could be someone who’s just desperate, or afraid.”

“Will be you close up through the curfew, then?” Castiel asks.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Nora says. “I know that people need gas, so I might just shorten the hours. For now I’m just going to take some of the more important stuff up to my house.”

The Gas-n-Sip is close to the edge of town, so Castiel is glad that Nora is taking precautions.

It doesn’t take that long to clear up most of the essentials such as batteries, water, camping and first aid equipment, which are packed into Nora’s car. Nora thanks her friends, who move to other jobs elsewhere, for apparently Nora is only one among many who are up to housecleaning in this time.

Castiel steps outside the store with Lila, while Nora does a final sweep with Victor of the store’s safety features and inventory. Out here, Lila gets to point at the clouds to amuse the baby in her arms, but Castiel’s eye is drawn to the badges still on the door. The details are still perfect and intricate, though their color has changed from the deep blue of yesterday to a dry, dark green.

“Oh, hey,” Lila says to someone over Castiel’s shoulder. “Sorry, we’re closing early today.”

Castiel half-turns at the approaching customer, the movement more automatic than conscious, and is already turned back towards the store when his brain belatedly parses the visual information of the approaching person. They’re wearing a dark jacket and jeans, i.e. hunter garb and unusual for the locals who prefer their long jackets more suited for the mountain environ. But Castiel knows all the hunters who came here with Bobby.

Rexford isn’t an enclosed fortress. Actually, even if Rexford _were_ an enclosed fortress, it wouldn’t be governed like a prison, because even the formidable Turner Estate was kept an open community. Only people like Michael, Zachariah, Naomi try to control their bases. Of course, the flipside to allowing people to move around freely is that _other_ people may move around freely, and sometimes undetectable.

Castiel turns.

The man is walking towards them with a deliberate gait of casualness. His face is calm but his eyes are electric, almost panicked, as though he hadn’t expected to find what he has. Castiel meets that gaze head-on.

“Lila, move back,” Castiel says quietly.

“I’m in need of gas,” the man says. His accent is local, but that might not mean much. “My car is just up the road, if I could—”

Castiel holds his hand up in a command to stop, but the man takes a quick breath and rushes forward. Castiel braces his feet and takes the tackle, falling onto the ground under the weight of the enthusiastic agent who’s now trying to get him in a headlock. Castiel struggles, but the young man is strong, solid, very much a hunter in his bearing. It makes sense that Lucifer would trust such a person to be out in the town on his own.

There’s a shout somewhere nearby. Castiel hopes it’s Victor and not this agent’s back-up.

The young man sits solidly on top of Castiel and throws something sideways. Castiel glances in that direction, just catching how Victor goes over, hands covering his eyes when the hexbag reaches its mark.

“This’ll be quick, Your Lordship,” the man says. “Just a nick—”

There’s a glint of metal – a knife being unsheathed. Castiel rallies for one strong push off the ground, hoping to dislodge him. He doesn’t quite succeed, but the man loses his balance for a second, and it’s enough for Nora to step in, swinging a bat at the assailant.

The man goes over with a grunt, but as Nora steps forward to grab Castiel’s hand, the man swings his hand out in a large arc, catching Nora’s arm in its wake. Castiel kicks at him wildly and then scrambles sideways, grabbing Nora under her arms to pull her away.

But there’s just the four of them. Nora, who’s trying to stop a bleeding gash on her arm; Victor, who’s crouched on all fours and trying to shake off his temporary blindness; Lila, who’s holding a baby; and Castiel, who’s half-sprawled on the ground with Nora in his arms.

“You must stop,” Castiel says. “People will have heard us, and they’ll be coming.”

That seems to only spur the man into action. He collects his knife where he’d dropped it, and then draws up to his full height. He glances to the side, in Lila and Tanya’s direction, and that’s when Nora nudges Castiel urgently.

“You can push him, can’t you?” Nora whispers. “The – that thing, that thing you said the other day, about the recoil?” She cranes her neck to look at Castiel, her eyes wild and begging, and then over at her daughter. The man is now pointing at Lila, ordering her to stay put or else they’ll get it.

“What do you want?” Castiel calls out. “Tell me.”

“Just a vial, sir,” the man says. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but you’re not listening.”

“No, _you’re_ not listening,” Castiel snaps. “Is this how Lucifer works? Is this how he conquers?”

That seems to hit a nerve, the man’s face contorting in anger. “You’re no better, Castiel. At least Lucifer doesn’t lie.”

“What are—” Castiel cuts himself off when the man sprints towards them. Nora grabs at Castiel’s closest hand and presses it firmly against her gash.

If there were time to think, Castiel could come up with a better plan, but there isn’t. As it is, Castiel watches, unblinking, as the man runs right for them. Time seems to slow down as Castiel focuses --the earth is solid and grounding beneath them, and Nora’s blood as fresh and alive as it gets.

The man reaches for Castiel, just as Castiel does the same. Castiel’s fingers are splayed out, and when the man touches them, Castiel unleashes the recoil.

There’s a funny half-second where the man seems confused, and then he’s flying backward, the force of the banishment an unseen punch that sends him through the air. Castiel thinks, absurdly, that there should be some sound effect here – a _whoosh_ , perhaps, or a dramatic _zwoing_. Dean would be disappointed that there isn’t.

The man falls heavily on his back, and then seems to be unconscious.

“Nora,” Castiel says. “Nora, how do you feel?”

“Cold,” Nora whispers.

“Lila!” Castiel calls out. He rubs his right hand up and down Nora’s arm in sharp movements, trying to get her blood flowing. “Help Nora, she needs to warm up.”

Lila manages to get Tanya back into her carrier, and then takes over holding Nora. Castiel moves quickly – checking that the man truly is unconscious, and then running back into the store to fetch water, an energy drink and bleach, which is easier said than done when his left arm is a dead weight after that particular stunt. The water is for Victor, to wash his eyes, and the energy drink is for Nora, to get her blood pumping.

“Fucking amateur hour,” Victor says angrily. “Got me right in the face. Good going, Henriksen.”

“It was a lucky shot,” Castiel says. “You blocked most of it, anyway. Nothing of the actual spell got through, just the pepper.”

Victor makes a face. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Will forcibly waking this man up make you feel better?” Castiel asks. “I need to talk to him.”

“What’s the bleach for? Torture?”

“That is uncalled for,” Castiel says, which makes Victor grin. “It’s for cleaning. Get on waking him up. It might take a while, there was a quite a kick in that.”

Victor watches in bemusement as Castiel trots back to the store, popping the lid off the bleach bottle on the way. “How about bringing him back to base?” Victor asks. “Easier to question him there.”

“No, they would’ve prepared for that. Lucifer would have chosen his lone agents carefully, and they won’t be easily compromised.”

“If we can just get their location—”

“Lucifer will just move,” Castiel says. “Victor, I understand, but let me have this one.”

Victor scowls, shakes his head, and then turns away with an annoyed grunt. “Fine, your call. But don’t tell Dean I didn’t run down the alternatives.”

“I won’t,” Castiel says.

It takes quite a while for the young man to regain consciousness. During that time, Castiel’s finished his cleaning, Nora is able to stand up and give Tanya a comforting cuddle, and Victor’s gone through all the young man’s belongings, only to find a well-worn but unmarked map, a copper bowl, and a pair of smaller knives.

When, at long last, the man’s eyes flutter open, Castiel says, “Are you with us?”

The man starts to get up, only to realize that his hands have been bound with plastic ties. “I won’t tell you anything!” he exclaims.

“That’s fine,” Castiel says. He’s crouching down near the man, close enough that there can be no mishearing what he’s about to say. “I’m the one who’s going to do any telling here. I think you’re a local boy, but not from around here specifically. What do you think?”

Castiel doesn’t turn, but he knows that Victor and Nora are standing just behind him, additional eyes minding their captive.

“Riverboy, I’d wager,” Nora says.

“Yeah, maybe Washington,” Victor says. “Somewhere in that region.”

“Ah,” Castiel says with a nod, “then you’re from one of the border states. Maybe that’s how you heard about Lucifer, and were drawn to his cause. Your reasons are your own, but I want you to look behind me.” Castiel points backward, and waits until the man’s eyes reluctantly flick in that direction, and then back to Castiel. “This is Rexford. This town has no part in that fight, and doesn’t care for Lucifer. If he wants it, he will have to take it by force. And there’s a word for people who take places by force.”

The man scoffs. “As opposed to taking it by charm?”

“Lucifer could try that, if he wants.” Castiel shrugs. “But it remains that he hasn’t, and I wonder if it’s because he only understands the language of his parents and grandparents and all the ancestors before him. If that’s the case, I’m responding in kind. This town is mine. Do you see?”

Castiel points, this time at a slightly different angle. The man looks, eyebrows jumping a little where he sees the result of Castiel’s handiwork. There’s only one badge on the Gas-n-Sip door now, Lucifer’s crest cleaned clear away.

“Since Rexford is mine,” Castiel says, “I invite your master to parley. He will meet me tomorrow at noon, at the fork of the river down that way. I’m sure you know where it is, since you’ve been busy exploring the woods all this while.”

“I don’t have to—”

“You do,” Castiel says. “It’s how it works. I’ve said my part, so now it’s your master’s call. Any response, or lack thereof, will be on your head.”

They give him a few seconds for that to sink in, and then Castiel stands up and draws back. He nods at Victor, who grabs the man by the jacket and hauls him to his feet.

Castiel nods sternly. “You tell my cousin that I’m very much looking forward to meeting him. It’s been a long time.”

Victor gives the man a nudge. “Now run, kid.”

After a false start, and multiple turns back to make sure they’re not about to knife him when he’s not looking, the young man starts running. Castiel, Victor, Nora and Lila watch him go, down the long stretch of downhill road, then where he turns off into the woods and out of view.

“I hope we don’t regret that,” Victor says.

“You can still follow him, if you want,” Castiel says.

“What, without back-up? No, that’s something Dean would do.” Victor shrugs when Castiel scowls at him. “I tell no lies.”

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel and Victor return to base after making sure that Nora, Tanya and Lila are returned to their respective homes safely. Castiel would’ve been happier if Nora came with them to the town hall, but he supposes that ‘safe’ is a relative term. Castiel’s just glad that she’s fine.

Dean, when Castiel tells him what happened at the Gas-n-Sip, is far less impressed.

“You used her blood as a power source,” Dean says flatly. “Someone else’s blood, while they were still using it.”

“It’s the same mechanics as any other banishment,” Castiel says. “We’ve discussed the theory of this before.”

Dean presses a warm hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes. “That’s _theory_ , Cas.”

Castiel understands Dean’s meaning, but he feels compelled to add, “That kind of spell isn’t the norm because it’s usually a violation. By it’s not _inherently_ a violation, because it can be given instead of taken. Nora trusted me – _trusts_ me – so her act of free will kept the spell uncorrupted. She was a little drained afterward, but she’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, okay, but you’ve never done something like that before,” Dean says.

“Not precisely like that, no.”

“So you didn’t know for sure that it would’ve gone okay. I mean, you’ve given me a demonstration on how that kind of thing works, and you were just banishing a stick that time, not a goddamned person.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Castiel says. “I used my left arm to absorb the energy, it’s already damaged anyway.”

That seems to be the wrong thing to say. Dean’s face contorts into an exaggerated rictus that has Castiel’s stomach dip.

“That… um.” Castiel flushes. “Are you angry? I hope you’re not angry.”

“No, no, not angry,” Dean says mildly, voice way too calm. “’Course not.”

“It could have gone far worse,” Castiel says. “You did hear the part where I said that we were being threatened by one of Lucifer’s agents? I didn’t have anything else on me I could use.”

“Mm-hmm, yeah,” Dean says, nodding.

“And it’s not as though I was _looking_ for him. He found me, unexpectedly. And I’d brought Victor with me, just like you said I should.”

“So you’re saying that you did everything right, took all the precautions, and you still found yourself in danger.”

“Ye—no. No, that’s not the point I was reaching for.” Just a few minutes ago Castiel was proud to be able to report the afternoon’s events to Dean in full, yet now here he is, almost stammering while Dean pins him in place with an inscrutable look. “Did I mention that I asked him for parley? So that’s a success. Not that it’s a competition, I don’t mean to imply that my outing was more successful than yours, because you – you are… Um.”

Dean is still bobbing his head as though he’s not really listening, but Castiel knows that he’s very much paying attention to everything Castiel’s saying and doing. Around them the hall is still bustling with activity, but this little patch of floor seems to belong to just them.

Castiel lifts up his left hand, offering it to Dean. “Kiss it better?”

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens his eyes again, it’s to wrap his fingers gently around Castiel’s left hand and massage the joint. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Castiel says. “It’s stiff, but there’s no pain anymore, no.”

“C’mere.”

Castiel trails after Dean, following him as he moves past the supply stacks to the connecting corridor at the end of the hall, which leads down to the bathrooms and generator room. It’s slightly dark down this corridor owing to there being no windows and no point wasting electricity, but it’s one of the few places where Dean can check Castiel’s arm in relative privacy.

Castiel stands still while Dean rolls Castiel’s sleeve up, fingers gentle but sure where they prod and massage at the length of Castiel’s arm. Dean still pauses at the scars on Castiel’s inner forearm, but other than that he is thorough.

“Better?” Dean asks.

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel says. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making you upset.”

“But you wouldn’t change anything about what you did,” Dean says. “No point being sorry.”

“I suppose, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still be apologetic.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, okay, I just hate seeing you get hurt, all right? But it’s not like I want you to grovel or anything like that, not when you’re… just being you.”

That makes sense, but it doesn’t escape Castiel’s notice the way Dean’s hands are still clenching and unclenching restlessly. Castiel reaches out, slipping his fingers into one of those hands in a show of comfort, and is surprised when Dean leans forward, pressing his mouth to Castiel’s.

Dean’s touch is electric. He means for the kiss to be brief but Castiel surges forward, chasing Dean’s mouth and grabbing at his shirt to haul him closer. Dean groans and complies, slotting their mouths back together.

Today is a day of surprises, it seems – Castiel didn’t know his body needed this, but apparently it really, really does. Dean needs this, too, though that is less of a surprise, for Castiel knows of Dean’s need for touch as affirmation.

Although Dean spoke calmly, that doesn’t mean that his passion, his temper, isn’t still there. Those feelings make themselves known now, in the way Dean carefully but determinedly backs Castiel up to the nearest wall, his kisses deep and hot and jaw-aching, his body a solid line of heat holding Castiel in place.

Dean isn’t wearing his normal jeans today. Instead he has on his hunter-typical cargo pants, with its many practical pockets, and the thing about cargo pants is that they do very little in masking an erection. Castiel shivers at how utterly blatant Dean’s hard-on is, the lewd curve of his cock pressing against Castiel’s inseam.

It makes sense why Castiel’s raring to go – he probably still has adrenaline leftover from the encounter with Lucifer’s agent – but how is it that Dean’s hard and wanting out of nowhere, before Castiel’s touched him properly? And Dean’s grabbing at Castiel as though he’s starved, his hands moving down from Castiel’s neck to his waist, yanking Castiel’s shirt out from his pants to find the skin beneath.

“Ah fuck,” Dean murmurs against Castiel’s mouth. “God, I love you.”

“Yes,” Castiel gasps, “me—”

He’s cut off when Dean pulls back to glare at something to the side, dislodging Castiel from his perch against the wall. Castiel stumbles and shudders at the thought of someone discovering them like this, Dean’s lips kiss-swollen and Castiel thoroughly disheveled. But inside the potential humiliation there is a kernel of exhibitionist pride, because – just look at his husband. _Look at him._ Who would not be undone if a man such as Dean were pawing at them thusly?

“Come on,” Dean says, taking Castiel’s hand and pulling him along. Castiel goes, dizzy and off-balance, and is only belatedly grateful when he realizes that Dean’s brought them into the bathroom.

“Lock the door,” Dean says, his voice like every wet dream Castiel’s ever had.

Castiel turns to do just that, while Dean checks the row of stalls to make sure that they’re alone. Dean’s task takes longer than Castiel’s, so Castiel uses the extra seconds to take his pants and boxers off. This means that he’s ready when Dean returns to him, opening his pants as he walks, and then bodily moving Castiel towards the sink counter so Castiel has something to lean against when Dean pushes between Castiel’s legs and _grinds_.

The bathroom echoes Castiel’s sounds back at him, coating the encounter with a layer of almost-voyeurism. The coolness of the marble against Castiel’s back contrasts sharply with the heat of Dean’s body at his front, adding to Castiel’s hyperawareness of where they are and what they’re doing.

It’s never been like this before between them. Dean’s urgency seeps into Castiel, who sends it back in a feedback loop of hunger and desire. Castiel claws at Dean’s back, Dean growls and digs his fingers into the meat of Castiel’s thighs, their kisses get sloppy and wet as they shove their hips together. Castiel’s legs are wide open as Dean ruts forward in sharp jerks, their legs locked in an angle that has Castiel practically bouncing up onto Dean’s thigh at every move Dean makes. There are many words for intercourse, many of them are interchangeable, but Castiel thinks that this is most definitely _fucking_.

They are fucking in the bathroom of a semi-public place, their movements demanding and sharp and greedy. Castiel is lost in the sensation, drunk on the knowledge that he did this, that Dean is making feral noises because of _him_ , only him, and no one else. Dean is pouring all his feelings into this base act, and there is anger in here but also worry and care and need, and he expresses himself this way because he won’t tell Castiel to not be true to himself.

The acoustics of the bathroom mean that, when Castiel comes, his sobs sound particularly loud. There are a few seconds in there where Castiel’s startled that he had that in him, and then he shakes his head and returns his focus to his husband. Dean’s been holding him firmly, making sure that he doesn’t hurt himself, so now Castiel returns the favor by winding one arm around Dean’s shoulder to draw him close.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs, dragging his lips over Dean’s cheek. “Dean.”

“Yep.” Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s waist, holding him there as he thrusts his cock against Castiel’s body. Castiel shifts sideways a little to reach around Dean’s back, and just manages to get two fingers into the crevice of Dean’s ass. Dean jerks at the touch, mouth falling open on a shocked, “Fuck, yes.”

Castiel clings to Dean through his orgasm and its aftershocks. Moments like these, Castiel is loath to miss anything, not a gasp, twitch, whimper that Dean makes. Dean is beautiful, and Castiel wants to behold all of it.

Castiel gives Dean a minute or so to regain his breath, and then leans forward to kiss him. Dean moves his lips clumsily, not quite in sync with Castiel’s kisses. Castiel keeps kissing him anyway.

“Hey.” Dean laughs and draws back a little. “That was awesome. You okay?”

“Very much so,” Castiel says. “I wonder if you know what you do to me, Dean.”

Dean sweeps his gaze down Castiel’s body. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Castiel laughs and drags Dean in for a sweaty, mostly-naked hug. “That, too.”

They breathe together in the quiet for a while, until Dean clears his throat and says, “We should probably let other people use the bathroom now.”

“They can use the other one.”

“And we need to plan for your thing tomorrow.”

“We can discuss it right here.”

“I’m not too hot about Bobby seeing me naked. Or seeing _you_ naked, for that matter. I mean, you’re sexy as fuck, but … I maybe kinda get off on feeling that this is, uh… this is all for me.” Dean says it apologetically, almost in embarrassment. “Not that I would ever deny the world your hotness.”

Castiel’s delight must show on his face, because Dean blinks in surprise. “I like that,” Castiel says.

“You do?” Dean says.

“This is all for you, anyway,” Castiel says. “Just as I will drink in my fill of everything you wish to share with me.”

Dean smacks his lips together. There’s still hunger in his eyes, but it’s dialed down to a low simmer. “Okay,” Dean says, clearing his throat. “Shower. Talk. Parley. Plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

As the afternoon wears on into evening, it becomes clear that it’s the hunter contingent who have the most planning to do for tomorrow’s meeting. Mayor Case has given her blessing on the terms Castiel’s drawn up, so there’s not much else to talk about there. What’s important now is how to keep themselves safe in case Lucifer decides that good faith is for chumps.

So it’s up to Dean, Bobby, Victor, Tara and the others to figure out the best ways to position themselves tactically at the meeting site, and what to do if things go wrong (which Castiel hopes they won’t). Castiel stays around the hall through their discussions, mostly to answers questions that Anna can’t.

Castiel’s attention, for the most part, is drawn to what’s happening in the town square. If he stands by the hall’s double doors, he can look down the building’s staircase, through the glass windows and to the cobblestone plaza beyond, where more and more townsfolk are coming in to set up camp. The sheriff’s department has it under control – so Castiel has been told – but the town’s lack of fortifications continues to make Castiel nervous. If Lucifer turns out to have a sizeable force, it’s going to be hard to defend this place.

When Dean comes searching for Castiel, these are the thoughts occupying his mind.

“Hey,” Dean says. “So we finally agreed on a layout.”

“That’s good,” Castiel says. “You’ve picked the second site?”

“Bobby’s gone with one of those deputies to scout it, yeah.” Dean leans against the wall near Castiel, his gaze moving from Castiel to the view he’s studying and back. “We’ll do the best we can tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says with a sigh. “This is just one town but you – you’re doing this for your country, for towns all across the continent. My scope is smaller.”

“Wow.” Dean laughs and shakes his head. “I thought it was the other way round.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, you’re the one who spent all that time trying to get me to understand the bigger picture. That we were part of something bigger than ourselves. You always had a good grip on that, when I was just… I’m simpler.”

“I think you’ll find that isn’t true anymore, if it ever was.” Castiel shrugs. “Maybe I’m just good at faking it.”

Whatever Dean’s about to say is cut off when their radios crackle to life. Most of the on-air chatter isn’t meant for Castiel, so it’s a surprise when Sheriff Osborne’s voice comes through now, asking for Dean and Castiel’s presence down by the library.

It’s a quick walk down the block, to the library’s large courtyard which has yet to be filled with makeshift camps. It becomes apparent why Osborne chose this place as their meeting point, because his people have corralled what appears to be a motley crew of foreign folk wearing clothes unusual for Rexford. Castiel’s first thought is that they’ve managed to capture a portion of Lucifer’s forces, but then he sees—

“Hannah!” Castiel exclaims.

Hannah, who’s relieved to see him, tries to step forward but Osborne gets to them first, saying, “Good, you’re both here. Maybe you can help clear things up.”

“What’s happening here, chief?” Dean asks.

“This bunch of folks just drove straight on up here, half a dozen cars and bold as brass, saying they’re here to…” Osborne half-turns, deliberately meeting Hannah’s scowl.

“We’re here to help Castiel,” Hannah says, in such a way that this must be a statement she’s had to repeat many times over. “They heard that Michael asked Castiel to surrender, and they wouldn’t have it.”

“What,” Osborne says, “so if the king sent a bunch of troops up here you were gonna make a human shield?”

“If necessary,” Hannah say. “Do you really cannot comprehend any other option?”

Castiel just then notices that one of Hannah’s friends has stepped forward and is trying to reach for Castiel’s sleeve. Castiel watches the young man reach out, flinch when he realizes he’s spotted, and then step back self-consciously.

“Oh my God,” Dean whispers, bumping Castiel’s shoulder. “Your groupies are here.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says. “Hannah, what did you hope to achieve?”

“We want to help,” one of them says. “What you wish to bid us, we will try.”

There must be twenty, maybe thirty people here, some of them familiar from Castiel’s time at Turner Estate, but others not. There’s a particular demographic that stands out at second glance – they are all young and healthy. They are also all very much alert, and said alertness is now focused on Castiel.

“It’s wrong,” another one of them, a young woman, says. “His Majesty… Michael. What he’s done, not just to you, but to all of us and to all of _them_ , it’s wrong.”

“But…” Castiel shakes his head, confused. “You can’t have just gathered together when Michael took the capital.”

“You’re right,” Hannah says, “we were gathering before that, but that move just clinched it. You were right about Michael, and now everyone can see it. There are more than those you see here, too. Many more. These are just the ones who could come to be your retainers.”

“Braces?” Dean says.

“I know you know what a retainer is,” Castiel says. “But I don’t see how I can accept such a service.”

Dean, who seems to be enjoying this far too much, leans eagerly against Castiel. “What kind of service are we talking about here?”

“The kind that requires a pledge of loyalty,” Castiel says. “Hannah, this is _dangerous_. It’s one thing for me to do the things I do, but you can’t ask these people to…”

“I didn’t ask them,” Hannah says patiently. “That’s the point. They listened to you, to your words, and they decided for themselves.”

“Loyalty to the crown isn’t the same as loyalty to the person wearing it!” This one is spoken by Adina, who grins when Castiel recognizes her. “It’s not necessarily treason when it’s done for justice.”

A sense of clarity and foreboding washes over Castiel. Some of those missing pieces that have been eluding him of late are now becoming clear, but it isn’t relief that Castiel feels. Castiel takes in the full sight before him, of all these eager faces, and his ears ring with a quiet, judgmental voice that sounds a great deal like Michael’s.

“There are more, you say?” Castiel says warily.

Hannah nods. “The weeks following your sojourn at the Turner Estate, word spread. Even before I printed the newsletter.”

“That dang newsletter,” Dean says.

“This isn’t funny, Dean,” Castiel says.

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Is this why Lucifer is here?” Castiel asks. “Because he’s heard that I can rally people?”

A shocked murmur passes through the group. Apparently Lucifer’s closing in on Castiel is news to them, but such news doesn’t appear to be a deterrent. In fact, it seems to rally them further, and they insist that this means that Castiel needs their numbers even more now, since the threat of a royal prince is far closer than they’d thought.

It’s at about this point that Dean’s noticed Castiel’s silent distress, and slides an arm over his shoulder to turn him away, partially shielding their conversation from their audience. “Hey. You want me to handle this?”

“Uh,” Castiel says. “Security. Is this a security breach?”

“We can’t turn them away or lock ‘em up without looking like douches,” Dean says. “But yeah, there’s no way of being sure if they’re legit beyond Hannah’s say-so. We should bring Anna in on this, get her opinion.”

“Good, excellent idea.”

“Shall I radio her over?” Dean asks.

“Yes, please.”

Castiel turns back to the expectant group, Hannah at their forefront. “We’ll figure out some accommodations for you. As you can see, things are a little packed right now.”

“We can manage ourselves,” the earlier young man says. “We’re not children. Will you let us swear allegiance to you now?”

“No, I won’t let you do such a thing,” Castiel says. “Don’t you understand what this means for you? If Michael learns what you’ve done, you can never go home.”

Hannah shares a look with her friends, while some of the others smile and shake their heads. When Hannah turns back to Castiel, it’s to say, “We’re aware of that. For some of us, the Isles may not be a home worth going back to. We’re not asking for pity, or for you to take care of us as though we’re not just like you, with rights of our own and desires to choose.”

“I never asked for this,” Castiel says weakly.

“You told people to help each other,” Hannah says. “We’ve been doing that, and this is… just another way to help.”

“Even if I wanted to accept, I don’t have a House for you to be sworn to.”

“Yes, you do,” Adina says. “The House of Winchester.”

Dean, who’s still talking on his radio, jerks his head up. “What’s that?”

“So an oath to me is an oath to my husband?” Castiel says.

“Of course,” Hannah says, while the others bob their heads in agreement. Apparently this has all already been discussed and agreed upon, because why not. Castiel has spent all these weeks lying low in Rexford and waiting for things to blow over, except apparently he wasn’t lying low at all. The one time ( _one time_ ) that he’d spoken up candidly has seemingly taken on a life of its own. Castiel knows how that happens – hell, he was in the epicenter when his and Dean’s love story swept the nation, but this is the spin-off that he wasn’t expecting.

No wonder Michael wants his head. (Metaphorically, but perhaps also literally.)

Castiel can’t be responsible for these people. If it all goes badly, then this is all on Castiel, no matter what Hannah says. Yet, as these people watch him patiently, respectfully, it slowly sinks in the sheer amount of effort and courage that must have taken them to come this far. And for what? Castiel’s promised nothing, offered nothing. They’d come anyway, because they believed they could do something.

Castiel knows what it’s like to want to do _something_ , anything. He should acknowledge that, at the very least.

“Introduce me,” Castiel says to Hannah, who beams. “I wish to know who has come today.”

“Yes, of course,” Hannah says. “Adina and Daniel, you remember. This is Ingrid, she was my contact further north, she helped me put the newsletter together…”

Sheriff Osborne seems fine with letting them handle this crowd, no doubt because he has other pressing matters to see to. What surprises Castiel is that Dean, after seeing Osborne off, comes forward to stand by Castiel’s side, nodding with interest and quipping every so often when Hannah presents the newcomers one by one.

“What?” Dean says, when Castiel cocks his head in question. “Gotta know what we’re getting into, here.”

So it is that Castiel and Dean receive these people who have come to pay homage. Dean seems remarkably at ease as he takes their bowing and respectful introductions, perhaps because he’s aware of how unnerved Castiel is and is trying to balance that out. For this, Castiel is thankful, and at one point while they’re making their way through the group, Castiel takes Dean’s hand in his. Dean squeezes back reassuringly.

Anna arrives on the scene just as the last few are brought forward. Her reaction is far more positive that Castiel’s, for she gasps and excitedly embraces some of the new arrivals.

“This is great!” Anna says. “We’ll have more hands to help hold the town.”

Anna’s enthusiasm is palpable, so Castiel has no qualms about proclaiming loudly, “Anna shall be my Marshal. I appoint my sister, Anna, as my Marshal and representative in all matters. Her word is mine.”

“What’s that now?” Anna only just then processes what she’s seeing, with how young Josiah is bowing as he steps back away from Castiel and Dean. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“So you accept?” Castiel says. “You shall assist me in all things temporal?”

“Don’t I do that anyway?” Anna laughs at Castiel’s expression and moves forward, squeezing his shoulder warmly. “Yes, of course. Wow, we’re going to have to set all you guys up. How many of you are there?”

As Anna address the group, Castiel leans towards Dean and whispers, “You’re supposed to delegate tasks. So I’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Dean whispers back.

“I hope the town can take the extra strain,” Castiel says.

“We were ready for Jo and her buddies anyway,” Dean says with a shrug. “Look, they’re exiles, we gotta take ‘em in no matter what. We’ll figure it out.”

When Dean says it, it sounds so reasonable. They can figure it out, and it’s not as though Rexford is struggling, or cut off entirely. The mayor will have to be notified, of course, and they’ll have to introduce these people to the sheriff’s department and their volunteers so there won’t be any misunderstandings. Then they’ll need to talk to the other hunters, to see if there’s any role that these people can play, perhaps in securing the town or managing supplies.

It’s going to be a long night but, as Castiel looks at Dean’s calm, contemplative face, he thinks that it’s very much doable.

“All right,” Castiel says at last. It’s been months since he’s stood in a lecture hall, but some things – like how to pitch his voice – return easily. Castiel stands straight, Dean’s hand in his, and addresses the listening group. “Legally, any oath will be unbinding, because I am in exile. Yet I’m grateful for your being here, and out of respect for that, I will accept the spirit of it. But first, you must know what’s happening here.”

Castiel tells them about Lucifer, about his marks and raids, how he has a camp somewhere in the woods, and how his agents have been seen in town. Dean interjects with a helpful, “So I hope y’all don’t take it personally, but we kinda have to be on our guard for that, ‘cause we don’t know where he’s gonna strike next.” Hannah’s friends nod in solemn agreement.

“And if we resolve this with Lucifer,” Castiel says, “there is Michael to contend with. We don’t know what’s happening in St. Lebanon, but with his being open about his purpose now, he will no longer be subtle, or merciful.”

“We know of Michael,” Josiah says. “He has sent word through our communities, calling us to him.”

“He did what?” Dean says.

“Didn’t you know?” Ingrid says. “Oh, maybe they haven’t reached this far. But yes, he’s been sending messengers bearing letters with his seal, summoning us to help him hold the capital and take the surrounding cities.”

“Are people going to him?” Castiel says.

“We don’t know,” Hannah says apologetically. “We have, um, detained the messengers that crossed our paths, so we know at least those few aren’t getting any more mileage.”

“So all things considered,” Anna says, far too calmly, “your accepting their fealty is like, really small in the scheme of things.”

“Dean,” Castiel says dazedly, “you must protect us.”

“Dude, of course,” Dean says.

“No, if Michael wins, he’s going to—”

“ _Of course_ , Cas.”

“Not just me,” Castiel says. “He will come for all of us. Your people must take us in.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate. “You don’t need to ask. This is really fucking brave of y’all. We’ll figure something out.”

Hannah and her friends may have come here for Castiel, but it’s Dean’s words that touch them now. Some of them look at Dean with new appreciation, and Anna in particular is smiling gently with pride. Castiel is relieved.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel doesn’t get much sleep that night, not even with Dean pressed against him. Actually, if it weren’t for Dean’s dragging Castiel to their sleeping bags, Castiel might not have gotten any sleep at all. There are too many things to do: tasks to organize, and people to talk to, and spells to teach (Castiel had just started showing Osborne’s deputies how to modify their tazers with their own blood, giving it extra kick).

But Castiel does sleep, albeit fitfully, until the early morning when Dean gives up and lets Castiel slide out from his sleeping bags. It’s still dark, but Castiel busies himself checking on the camps outside and asking for the latest updates from the previous night’s patrol (conclusion: Lucifer still not found).

There’s no guarantee that the parley will be beneficial, but Castiel at the very least doesn’t want to make things worse. Especially since he’s apparently been making things worse every single step he’d made since Naomi came searching for him with Michael’s proposal all those months ago. May Castiel have some good luck today.

Time passes too quickly. Before long it’s sunrise, and Castiel has to get ready.

Dean finds Castiel shaving in the hall’s communal bathroom, where various other people are going through own morning routines in and out of the stalls. Dean leans against the counter next to Castiel and gives him a smug, knowing look, which has Castiel rolling his eyes.

“Looking good there, champ,” Dean says.

“Just thought it would be good to be presentable,” Castiel says. “If my hygiene is under control, it implies everything else is under control as well.”

“Makes sense.” Dean leans closer, peering when Castiel rinses his razor. “Too bad we can’t do anything about your roots.”

“I could just shave my head as well,” Castiel suggests.

“Then what will I hold on to when you blow me?” Dean cackles when Castiel kicks his shin lightly. “Hey, you’re missing a spot. Let me do that.”

Castiel hands the razor over and stands obediently when Dean moves him into a more serviceable position. As always, Dean’s touch is sure and careful, and Castiel decides that he should ask Dean to do this more often, since it’s so much nicer this way. For a blissful few minutes Castiel’s world is reduced to the faint scratching of the razor doing its work, which sadly ends when Dean kisses the tip of Castiel’s nose.

“All done,” Dean says.

Victor sighs he moves past Dean. “They’ll never believe me.”

Dean just beams and pats Castiel’s newly-shaven cheeks. “I have no shame. Ain’t that right?”

“Should’ve told Jo,” Victor mutters. “She would’ve gotten a kick out of that.”

Castiel perks up, but Victor has already exited the bathroom. “Jo? Did you manage to get through?”

“Hmm, what?” Dean says.

“Did you manage to get news from the capital?” Castiel says. “Kevin said that they were trying patch through to safehouse this morning, that there was a window that looked promising, or something to that effect. So did you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean’s smile is careless, but Castiel feels there’s something deliberate about the presentation. “Yeah, we got in for like, ten minutes, but it’s… You know what, how about we focus on Luci for now?”

That makes Castiel frown. Dean’s face is placid, but that doesn’t tell Castiel anything – whether he’d heard good news, bad news, or no news. Castiel’s thoughts have been so focused on Rexford that he hasn’t been asking much about St. Lebanon, and he’d assumed that if there were any changes or important updates, someone would tell him.

Dean’s hands land on Castiel’s shoulders, turning him gently so that he can see his reflection, now with Dean’s handiwork of shaving him. Castiel takes in his appearance, noting that he can’t rely on suits and button-downs to create an impression today, for all he has are this worn shirt and jeans, plus Dean’s flannel on loan. At least Castiel matches Dean, who’s perfectly at home in his own flannel and leather jacket.

“You would tell if me if you needed anything, wouldn’t you?” Castiel asks. “I trust that you know what you’re doing, but… I want to be there for you, as much as you’ve been here for me.”

“Uh, maybe this isn’t the time for that. I’m gonna be moving out soon.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Castiel starts gathering his toiletries, but stills when Dean covers his hand with his own. “I know you don’t want me to worry.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly. “That, too.”

“Too?” Castiel echoes. “You don’t want to share with me? Not that you’re obligated, of course—”

“Geez Cas, it’s not like that. It’s just, there’s so much going on now, right? Let’s keep our sights on what’s in front of us.”

They are standing so close, their chests almost touching and Castiel a few inches away from resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. There is a great deal of noise elsewhere in the communal bathroom, but Dean has this ability to carve spaces that seem to belong just to them, no matter where they are. Castiel twists his fingers into the hem of Dean’s shirt, just to have something to hold on to.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy,” Castiel says.

“No, no, don’t be sorry for that. It’s just that I don’t want to, uh…” Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head, as though clearing his thoughts. When he opens his eyes again, he doesn’t quite meet Castiel’s. “Sam’s gone and done something stupid, and the Campbells are apparently being douches about it, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

“Oh. Maybe you should’ve—”

“There we go,” Dean says with a sigh. “This is why I didn’t wanna say anything else, okay?”

“You’ve never said anything to begin with,” Castiel says, sharper than he means to. “You haven’t told me anything about the Campbells, or how your mother is dealing with your grandfather’s duplicity, or—”

“See,” Dean snaps. “It’s all just my family crap.”

“That isn’t crap,” Castiel protests.

Dean makes a small noise of frustration. “I’m not saying that it’s _crap_ crap, I’m just saying that I get it, about keeping perspective or whatever. I know what you’ve been through, with Michael breathing down your neck your whole life, Naomi moving you around like you ain’t nothing, and no one ever really…” He clenches his jaw. “You’ve had enough of your own family bullshit to deal with, is what I’m saying.”

“My family’s not all bad,” Castiel says.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Anna’s an exception.”

Castiel stares at him expectantly, but nothing else seems to be forthcoming. Castiel says slowly, “Anna is wonderful, yes, but I was talking about you. You’re my family, so if you’re so adamant on keeping ‘perspective’ then, in fact, I’ve had it quite good. I’ve had it quite excellent, actually. So please don’t feel that you need to protect me.”

Dean’s reaction is… strange. Castiel’s quite sure that what he’s just said is a good thing, but Dean doesn’t seem happy about it. If anything he seems surprised, almost mesmerized, and then distress pulls the corners of his eyes. He’s trying to mask these feelings under a bland expression, but his failed attempt just makes it worse.

“Dean,” Castiel says. “You’re my husband, but it’s more than that, I thought… We were talking about the future, and making something new together, and that’s – that’s family, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dean says tightly. “Yeah, that’s it, right, you got it. Uh. I think I better check on the others.”

Dean’s already halfway out of the bathroom before Castiel snaps out of his confused stupor and sprints across to grab Dean’s arm. “Did I say something wrong? Was that wrong, Dean?”

“No, of course not,” Dean says quickly. “I gotta – Cas, I’m gonna be late, you better wrap things up.”

This is also true, so Castiel reluctantly releases Dean’s arm. He must’ve definitely said something wrong, but there’s no time to unpack that now, not with – Castiel glances at his watch and inhales sharply. Damn it. Dean’s already disappeared out the corridor, too.

The plan is that there will be three different teams going to the parley. The first is the contact team, headed by Anna, who will meet Lucifer’s team at the meeting point at the river. This team will be bringing Lucifer’s party to the real meeting point slightly closer to the main road, where the second team, headed by Castiel, will be waiting for them. The third team, i.e. Dean’s team, will be hiding in the background of that second meeting point, ready to move in case anything goes wrong. This third team will also travel there ahead of everyone else in order to secure the area.

It makes strategic sense, but now Castiel regrets losing the opportunity to talk to Dean. Castiel rushes through getting dressed and combing his hair, but by the time he’s done Dean’s already outside the hall briefing his team, a mix of hunters of locals.

All Castiel can do is raise a hand in goodbye and good luck. Dean, at least, smiles back and tips an invisible hat in Castiel’s direction before heading out.

Anna quietly moves up to Castiel’s side. “No smoochies before you go?”

“If I do that, they’ll just get delayed,” Castiel says. “How are the others?”

“We kinda got a system going, which is good,” Anna says. “I talked them into doubling up, so… let’s just say that Nora and Lila have more than enough hands organizing the rations.”

“We’re not rationing already, are we? I don’t know about the town market, but Nora’s usual delivery isn’t due for another day.”

“Just being prepared,” Anna says. “It might not get here, if they cut off the roads.”

This is another point that Castiel has to remember to bring up with Lucifer. He has the town’s terms typed out properly, of course, (thank you to Maggie’s typewriter), but there are some things that can’t exactly be written down, such as the importance of figuring out how desperate and afraid Lucifer is, how many people he has, just what he knows about Michael’s actions elsewhere, all those things.

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 

* * *

 

 

Things go wrong. Or they go right, perhaps, if one were viewing from Lucifer’s point of view.

It’s kind of funny that it happens, what with Castiel’s pessimism and Dean’s suspicious nature. Where they’d deliberately set out with three different groups and a secondary meeting point, Lucifer had apparently done something similar. Castiel and his group are waiting at the secondary meeting point as agreed, with the third team quiet and unseen around them, but when Anna’s group arrives, Lucifer isn’t there.

Castiel does recognize the woman at the head of the group of five that’s being escorted (all five appear to be human, though it’s hard to be sure). The leader recognizes him, too, and greets him with a cheerful, “Charming!”

“Castiel,” he says.

“You’d think that would be new information,” she says. “The name’s Meg. Oh, and I forgot to tell you last time: love what you’ve done with your hair.”

“He’s not here,” Castiel says, which Anna acknowledges with a grim nod. “Where is your master?”

“Oh, he had to be here in person?” Meg asks.

“Yes,” Castiel says, “I specifically said—”

“That he was to meet you at the river,” Meg finishes. “Considering that _you_ weren’t at the river either, you’re both square on that front, I reckon.”

“Really?” Castiel says. “You’re going to try to be clever about this?”

“Considering you have your buddies ready to ambush him at the first sight, I would say that that was a good call.” Meg hasn’t stopped smiling. “Come on, Charming, you’re not interested in talking. Well, unless there’s a camera around, but there are no cameras here today.”

Castiel isn’t sure what happens next. Suddenly there’s shouting, gun shots, and something huge and dark swoops down from the treetops. The person closest to Castiel pushes him to the ground, where Castiel can see even less. Castiel’s radio, which is strapped to his belt, erupts in shouts, though the words are lost in the din.

Castiel rolls into the closest undergrowth, staying low to keep hidden. He pulls his radio up closer to his ear but it’s still mostly noise – _watch out_ , stay put, _dragon_ , don’t let ‘em get away – with Dean’s voice among the many that are yelling.

Although this turn of events isn’t _too_ surprising (there was no guarantee that Lucifer would take any of this seriously), it seems incomprehensible to Castiel. They hadn’t even started talking, which means that Lucifer wasn’t interesting in talking at all. A full-out aggressive maneuver speaks of desperation, fear, or unbridled confidence.

Castiel needs to know what’s going on. He starts to stand up, but is spotted and goes back down with Anna dives on top of him.

“Stay down,” Anna hisses. “Wait for the safe signal.”

“Anna, this is insane,” Castiel says. “Lucifer’s smart, isn’t he? Why would he do this? It’s always better to talk, the cost of action is too—”

“Shhh!”

The abrupt absence of noise is startling. Then, branches snapping under footsteps, a hiss of something whipping through the air, and more shouts as another skirmish breaks out. An explosion makes Castiel jump, and then a rain of leaves and branches scatter overhead.

Castiel rolls onto his belly and starts crawling, Anna close by him. He needs to get some distance between himself and the action, at least so he stand up and see what’s happening. It’s not enough to fill in the blanks with the growls, grunts and cocky taunting (from Victor) that he can hear. Somewhere not too far off, a werewolf howls, perhaps sending glad tidings of reinforcements.

After they’ve traveled a few yards, Castiel backs up against a tree and fumbles for his radio. Pressing it closer to his ear, his breath catches when he hears Dean’s voice saying, “… _gonna chase it down._ _Might not get this chance again_.”

“No,” Castiel breathes. He’s about to press at the button when Anna covers his hands.

Anna shakes her head, pokes at Castiel’s jacket, lined as it with sigils. She mouths, “They can’t smell you, but they will hear you. Let Dean do his job.”

That’s true. This is what Dean does on the regular, except maybe a little bit more complicated, and perhaps with larger stakes, but Dean should by all rights take charge now when Castiel’s part has failed.

Yet as Castiel stands with his back pressed against the tree, each heavy second that passes peels away a little bit of that certainty. Castiel remembers that it was never in any of their agreed plans that anyone in any of the teams should try to track down Lucifer’s camp. All the plans have the same endgame – everyone is to return to the main road immediately afterward, whether or not the talks are successful.

Did Castiel push Dean too hard? Did he accidentally hit nerve, because Dean had sounded so surprised at Castiel’s statement of something that should’ve been obvious? Dean has his own baggage about family that’s different from Castiel’s own, but he is so devoted, and maybe Castiel reminded Dean how much he stands to lose, and now Dean feels that he simply _has_ to take Lucifer out now, so that he can go to the rescue of his brother and parents.

Or maybe it’s the other thing. Dean said that he feels that Castiel has been through so much already and shouldn’t have to bear Dean’s problems. Maybe this is Dean trying to solve some of those problems directly, because he feels that _that’s_ his job.

Dean has said, more than once, that protecting Castiel is his job.

Castiel takes a shaky breath. He’s probably overreacting. He does that a lot.

Those thoughts are put aside when Castiel hears clicking noises nearby. The fighting is still some yards away, so the closeness of this sound is a surprise. Castiel moves as silently as he can, pulling his silver knife out from the back of his jacket. Next to him, Anna prepares herself as well.

The noise might be teeth, or perhaps talons tapping on the ground. A low, guttural voice speaks softly, a mere handful of feet away. Castiel only catches a few words here and there, their dialect peppered with modified old Enochian, but he definitely makes out, “…we have the husband, it’s enough.”

In the distance there’s another wolf howl. The clicking stops, and then there’s the rustle of branches as the creature and its companion begin to run, away from the fighting and towards the howling.

There is no time to think. Castiel pushes himself off the tree and makes a dash for it, following the path recently taken by the two creatures. He tries to keep low but it doesn’t matter if the others see him or not, it’s not as though Lucifer’s agents will harm him. Someone grabs at the back of his shirt – Anna, he assumes, but he cannot wait for her.

Castiel runs as fast as he can, jumping over forest debris and trying to keep his targets in sight despite the trees and their camouflaged clothing.

Anna’s keeping pace with him as well, and she’s talking softly into her radio now, presumably keeping the others notified on what’s happening. Castiel knows he’s lucky that she hasn’t hit him on the head to stop him.

The trail heads east, almost but not quite along the slope that runs along the eastern border of the town. There should be some private patches of farmland in here, but the woods are thick and there are many places to hide. It would make sense if Lucifer’s been moving his camp just on the edges of town, for it would be easier to steal supplies.

“Cas!” Anna exclaims.

Castiel turns in time to bring his knife up when the werewolf leaps out of the undergrowth at him. It’s huge, almost twice Castiel’s weight and girth, which means that Castiel goes over when it barrels into him. Castiel stabs up blindly, sticking the creature shallowly and causing it to yelp and jump back. It starts to approach again, but stills when it sees that Anna has her gun aimed at it.

“Stay down,” Anna says.

“That’s a good idea.”

Anna starts, just enough that the werewolf darts forward and surprises Anna into making a shot that grazes its shoulder. The werewolf flinches but stays low, its teeth bared.

There is a man walking towards them. He must have been very close by, likely hidden between these trees with the werewolf for company. He is unassuming in appearance, with a plain shirt and jeans, his hair spackled with grey, his eyes gentle.

He could be like any of the mid-afternoon customers that come through the Gas-n-Sip. Well, if any of the Gas-n-Sip customers had a bodyguard of creatures that followed them wherever they went. There are three that Castiel can see, flanking Lucifer like an arrow – another werewolf, a wraith, and something that looks human but Castiel wouldn’t assume.

“Lucifer,” Anna says.

“Lady Anna,” Lucifer says with nod.

Castiel feels like he should get up at this point, but is frozen in place when Lucifer turns his attention to him. Castiel is struck by how similar yet how different he is from Michael. There are roughly the same features and the same captivating eyes, but Lucifer seems tired and elderly where Michael presents himself as nothing less than virile and magnificent.

“Castiel,” Lucifer says, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Seriously?” Anna says.

Lucifer turns his benign expression towards her, and flicks his hand out. The wraith shimmers in the air, reaching out for Anna. It cannot harm her because of her protections, but the movement is enough for Anna to take a surprised step back, where the werewolf swipes her leg. Anna drops her gun and fall over heavily, her calf bleeding.

Castiel starts towards her, but is stopped by Lucifer’s stern, “Cousin. You will come with me now.”

“Where is Dean?” Castiel asks.

“He’s safe,” Lucifer says. “Would you like to see him?”

Castiel glares and stands up with at much dignity as he can muster. He is sweaty and covered with dirt, but he can look Lucifer in the eye. “Anna comes with me.”

Lucifer tilts his head, considering. “My children need to eat.”

“Anna must not be harmed,” Castiel says. “Or you will suffer for it.”

Lucifer huffs under his breath. “No need to be dramatic, everyone needs to eat. I’m sure you’re hungry as well, or have you had lunch already? Never mind that, you should join me anyway. Both of you, of course. Come.”

Lucifer holds his hand out to Anna, who stares at in disbelief. Castiel moves past him and helps Anna up to her feet, pulling her arm over his shoulder to support her. She’s limping, so it’ll be difficult for her to run back to town to get help. Damn it.

“Good day,” Lucifer says, seemingly more to himself than to them. He turns and starts walking, and the only reminder that they’re to follow is when the werewolf bumps the back of Castiel’s knees, urging him to walk.

Lucifer stretches his arms and take a deep breath, as though savoring the forest air. “We are saved,” he says, almost happily.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel expects to be blindfolded on their way to Lucifer’s camp, but it doesn’t happen. He and Anna get to see exactly where they’re going, and size up the settlement as they enter it.

There are tents of many sizes, most of them positioned between the trees. At the center of the camp is a small clearing, large enough for Lucifer to hold court if he wants to, though said clearing is empty at the moment. The camp’s settlers are on high alert, many of them prowling or standing tall in readiness for action, though they now go still and watchful when Lucifer approaches.

One surprising observation Castiel makes is that most of them appear to be human. There is another werewolf standing guard at the perimeter, but between its kin, the wraith and the dragon, that appears to be the extent of Lucifer’s supernatural forces. The others – two dozen of them, thereabouts – appear to be human. Of course, there may be others elsewhere, but the human majority here is worth noting.

Lucifer heads towards the largest tent, a dark green structure propped up at the edge of the clearing. Castiel imagines that such a set-up must be easy to move around at a moment’s notice. There are no vehicles that can get this deep into the woods without making a ruckus.

“A good meal will go a long way,” Lucifer says.

“Anna,” Castiel says. “Her leg needs to be tended to.”

“Yes, of course,” Lucifer replies, but he doesn’t break stride.

Castiel has no choice but to follow, Anna still leaning heavily on him. She hasn’t said a word, but Castiel knows that she’s thinking, observing, processing. Anna will have noticed that there are no captives in the open (and no Dean), but it’s impossible to tell which, if any, of the tents is a prisoners’ pen. Anna will also be thinking about how they have a few hours of sunlight left, after which it’ll be dark and any search being made for them will likely be put to a halt.

For now, they follow Lucifer to his tent. There is a man standing guard there, and he opens the flap to allow them through. He openly sizes Castiel up as he passes, and seems to be mildly confused by what he sees.

“Have a seat,” Lucifer says.

Goodness knows how Lucifer managed to bring furniture out here, but he has. Inside the tent there is a table, a few low stools, and a pallet in the corner. Castiel guides Anna to sit down at one of the stools before taking another for himself.

“Anna’s leg—” Castiel starts.

“Yes, yes.” Lucifer fetches a canvas bag and then gestures at her calf. “Let’s see the damage.”

“Um,” Anna says.

“Don’t be squeamish,” Lucifer says. “Roll it up.”

Anna exchanges a quick, neutral look with Castiel, who returns it equally blankly. Anna’s expression doesn’t change even when Lucifer kneels by her feet and looks up at her as though Anna is but a child with a grazed knee.

“I,” Anna says haltingly. “I would like Castiel to dress me.”

“Ah, but you must let me show this this.” Lucifer takes out a small velvet pouch, which he dangles in the air. “You’re both too old for parlor tricks, but once this would have delighted you. Castiel, come, help me with this.”

Castiel joins Lucifer on the floor and rolls up Anna’s pant leg, taking care not to aggravate her injury. The wound seems shallow but it’s hard to tell. Anna must be in far more pain than she’s letting on.

“Watch.” Lucifer opens the pouch and dips fingers inside. When his fingertips emerge they’re covered with orange dust, and Castiel’s nostrils protest the burning odor. In a gesture of measured showmanship, Lucifer flicks his fingers towards Anna’s wound, and Castiel just reacts in time to grab Anna’s leg, holding her in place as she cries out in surprised pain.

Lucifer’s smile is one of soft pride, but there is no mistaking that this is a casual dominance display. Phoenix ash is so rare that Castiel’s only ever seen it twice in his long career, and neither time had he been allowed to handle it himself. Let Lucifer show off, as long as Anna gets better.

“You know what,” Lucifer says, almost absent-mindedly. Before Castiel can react, Lucifer reaches over towards him, fingers just brushing over Castiel’s hair and singeing his scalp with the faint burn of magic.

Castiel’s head snaps around, glaring.

“That’s much better,” Lucifer says. “Now you look like your photographs.”

“That isn’t funny,” Castiel snaps. “You had Anna hurt, and now you heal her. Proof that you have the power of death and life in your hands. And this…” he reaches up, as though he can tell the color of his hair by touch, “…Another casual display of power.”

“I just thought you looked better with dark brown,” Lucifer says mildly.

“Where is Dean?” Castiel asks.

“Safe.”

“I want to see him.”

“You will, if you behave.” Lucifer smiles as he stands up, brushing himself off. “Now will you join me for my meal?”

“No.” Castiel belatedly scrambles up to his feet, but Lucifer’s already wandered away, seemingly distracted by the tray of food laid out on the table. “I want my husband and any others you may have captured to be freed immediately, and I want you gone from my town.”

Lucifer hums. “That doesn’t seem very fair. What do I get in return?”

“What on _earth_ makes you think you deserve anything in return?”

Lucifer moves slowly, quietly, like some great ancient animal that’s been provoked by something significantly smaller and younger than itself. The eyes that pin Castiel in place are the same shade as Michael’s, and Castiel does, in theory, appreciate the skill it takes to exude such a powerful presence and make it seem natural. People call it the aura of kingship, as though monarchs are made of different material as other people, but it’s just marketing.

Again and again, Castiel has borne people staring at him, studying him, trying to measure him up. He bears it again now, with Lucifer’s slow scrutiny.

“Such a curious thing,” Lucifer says quietly. Then, more to himself, “I suppose you talked to Michael that way, too.”

“Lucifer—”

“I’m going to eat, whether or not you’ll join me.” Lucifer sits down at his table, neatly ignoring everything Castiel just said. Castiel takes a quick breath, already regretting losing his temper, but it’s not like he can help it. Dean could be hurt or worse, and Castiel hates not having the leverage to get the information he needs.

It’s not even that Castiel doesn’t know what Lucifer’s doing. Lucifer’s trying to keep them off-balance, hoping that they’ll reveal something. It’s practically standard procedure, though that doesn’t make it any less infuriating. Castiel reminds himself that it isn’t just Dean that he has to worry about – it is Lucifer himself that they need to neutralize. Not that Castiel has anything useful that he can use; the knife, radios and other items they’d been carrying have all been taken.

For now Castiel can only glare impotently while Lucifer peels a loaf of bread apart for his lunch. It’s a locally-made loaf, the shape distinct; no doubt it was stolen in one of Lucifer’s raids. Also on the table is a jug of water, a plate of cold cuts and cheese, and a photograph.

It’s a Polaroid, actually, now that Castiel is looking at it properly. Lucifer notices Castiel’s scrutiny, and slides the photo across the table towards him. It’s not an old photo but it’s already worn a little, as though passed between many hands.

It takes a moment, but Castiel recognizes the setting. The off-white walls, the many people gathered in a group, and the one person with red hair at the center of said group. For a second Castiel is thrown back a handful of weeks into that very moment, when he’d still been fearful of his identity being revealed, and how that click of the camera had caused his heart to leap into his throat. Hannah said she’d handled it, but apparently not so much.

“Oh, yes,” Lucifer says with a smile. “My eyes are many.”

Castiel wants to ask why Lucifer could possibly care about something that happened weeks ago, but it doesn’t feel right to say such a thing out loud. Lucifer thinks he’s being clever by revealing how he’d known about Castiel’s seditious talks at the Turner Estate.

“You’re not interested in talking to me,” Castiel says, “or negotiating any sort of terms to your benefit. What do you even want?”

“I think I would like to wait,” Lucifer says. “There’s no point in sticking to an old strategy if it’s not working, is there? Waiting has worked wonders for you, so I should try it myself.”

That’s an odd turn of phrase to use. The only thing Castiel’s been waiting for is for all of this bullshit to pass.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Lucifer asks. “You won’t get a better meal anywhere else in my camp.”

“I’m sure,” Castiel says.

A gentle touch on Castiel’s arm makes him start, reminding him that his sister is still here. Anna’s hand is warm on Castiel’s elbow, and she’s trying to signal him without words. She is alert but calm – she wants Castiel be alert and calm as well. Castiel takes a deep breath and then lets Anna pull his sleeve, guiding him to sit.

For a few, agonizing long minutes, there’s just the quiet of Lucifer tending to his meal. Castiel may have experience playing the patience game, but dear God, he doesn’t want to. He can’t tell anything about what’s going on from the noises he can hear outside, and he can’t see anything inside this tent that would be immediately useful if he tried to make a nuisance of himself. He could make a go for the Phoenix ash in Lucifer’s pocket, but then what?

“You do remember me, Anna?” Lucifer says at last.

“Not very well,” Anna says politely.

“You were a very well-mannered child,” Lucifer says. “Shy, but very curious once something caught your attention. Both of you look so much like your parents, did you know that? I’m assuming that no mementos survive, so all you have are your shared memories. Or… Anna’s memories, I suppose.”

“No, that’s not going to work,” Castiel says. “You can tease us with nostalgia or try to revive our parents’ crest, but that doesn’t make any of it _mean_ anything.”

Lucifer leans back in his chair. “I see. So there’s no more looking back for you, then. Just… forward. I hear you’ve been busy with that, making all your new connections.”

Castiel’s eye drifts back to the photograph. From Lucifer’s point of view, Castiel’s speaking up at Turner estate must have looked like a recruitment drive. Actually, considering what Hannah says it accomplished, it really _was_ a recruitment drive. Castiel has increased numbers, where Lucifer’s numbers have been reduced.

“You would like a share in that in standing against Michael?” Castiel asks. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

Lucifer gives Castiel a look. “Michael is everyone’s enemy.”

“But his grudges hurt some more than others.”

“You would know,” Lucifer says.

Anna’s grip tightens on Castiel’s arm, but the warning isn’t necessary. Castiel knows when to hold his tongue.

Lucifer seems about to say something else, but his expression smoothens over when there’s a rustle at the tent flap. The guard peers in and, when Lucifer nods, lets two new people enter. A man and a woman, both of them immediately bowing low on the ground when they see Lucifer. Through the open flap, Castiel can see rushed movement outside, people running back and forth with purpose that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Thank you, My Lord,” one of the new arrivals says. His accent is northern. “Thank you for—”

“Casualties?” Lucifer says curtly.

“We had to split up,” the man says. “There are six of us, but we have brought provisions.”

“Good,” Lucifer says. “You’ve done well. You will be shown where to go.” The pair stand up and step forward to kiss Lucifer’s hand before returning outside.

This display of homage is impressive, but perhaps not for the reasons that Lucifer expects. The pair aren’t new recruits to Lucifer’s cause, and they can’t be a raiding party just returned to camp, because the raids Lucifer’s sent out so far have all gone out at night. They are, however, visibly exhausted, and their clothes are worn.

The only thing Castiel can think of is that Lucifer’s forces must have split up after Stanford, and traveled in the safety of smaller numbers across the country, which would be easily done considering there are refugees moving all over the nation. Additionally, if each smaller group has more humans than creatures, they can camouflage themselves from the hunters who are searching for them.

Now Lucifer has set up camp and is waiting for them to return to him, group by group. Which means that though Lucifer’s numbers are small now, they could be growing.

“Take them, too,” Lucifer says, gesturing at Castiel and Anna. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to resume at another time.”

Castiel crosses his arms. “I’m comfortable here.”

“That’s rather impolite of you,” Lucifer says.

“Your face is impolite,” Castiel replies.

“Throwing a tantrum is so—”

“Just give me my husband back, you ass,” Castiel says. “You’re the one who’s in a rush here, not me. Are you moving your camp again? Is it because my people are on the way? Then I have no reason to move.”

Lucifer sighs. “Check your tattoo.”

“What?”

“Check your tattoo,” Lucifer says slowly. “Do you even know that Dean’s still alive?”

Well, now Castiel’s done it. Lucifer’s found his soft spot (albeit an obvious one, all things considered) and is pushing. Castiel won’t look at his arm because it’s a trick, he knows it’s a trick, and Lucifer is just waiting to see how he’ll react. After all, Castiel would definitely feel it if something happened to Dean. That’s how that binding works. He’s sure. He won’t look.

“I know he’s alive,” Castiel says. “What I don’t know is if you even have him. Actually, I don’t think that you do. You haven’t actually _said_ you do, you’ve simply weaseled your way around it. And if you _did_ have him, you’d actually be making use of it more effectively.”

Lucifer blinks.

“Which works better for me, really,” Castiel says. “Because he’s going to rend heaven and earth to find me. Good luck to you, though. He hasn’t forgotten what you did to Sam.”

Lucifer stands up to his full height. It’s almost impressive how easily he sheds the posture of an old, congenial man. This is Lucifer, king-in-the-making, or so he would have his followers believe.

Castiel doesn’t uncross his arms, though. He merely stares back disinterestedly as Lucifer says, “I see you now. Good. A proper escort is required, then.”

A rush of cold air signals the arrival of wraith, who’s phased through the tent walls and is heading straight for Castiel. There are still protections on Castiel’s body, so he’s more curious than afraid. Wraiths aren’t known for getting along with the living, let alone deliberately helping them, so what can Lucifer even offer a creature such as this? Werewolves and dragons at least could be attracted by the promise of food.

Just as the wraith reaches for Castiel, Anna rolls onto the ground abruptly, reaching out for something as Lucifer shouts. Around them the tent collapses, and then there’s mayhem.

* * *

When Castiel wakes up, it’s dark. It’s also cold and slightly damp, which doesn’t feel much like a woodland environment.

His head hurts, but it slowly clears as he takes deep, steadying breaths. After some time he registers that he’s looking at the dark of an enclosed space, only dimly lit by a lantern off to the side. The ceiling is rock, and Castiel lets his gaze follow its shape across, then down what is functionally a wall on his right.

He’s in a cave, then, or some kind of tunnel. Castiel doesn’t know the landscape of Rexford well enough to know if there are such places, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there are. Mountains are mysterious things.

On his left, the rocky space is deeper, but there are wooden bars marking his cell. The lantern is hanging on the bars on the outside, and near it is a werewolf, who is crouching on the ground beyond the bars and staring at Castiel impassively.

Anna is nowhere to be seen. Castiel doesn’t remember much about what happened when she made her play, but he hopes that she’s fine. Lucifer wouldn’t harm her, not when she’s useful. Maybe she even managed to escape, she’s good at that. It would have been logical for Anna to escape without him, for Lucifer wouldn’t spare his limited resources chasing down someone relatively less important.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Castiel is allowed to have some wishful thinking.

When Castiel sits up, the werewolf barks softly. At first Castiel thinks it’s a warning, but then he hears footsteps, just as the lantern illuminates an approaching figure.

“Finally,” Meg says. “Any room service for sir? Oops, we’re all out. Water next to you, though. That’s on the house.”

Castiel would say something rude, but his throat is dry and Meg’s already walking away.

How long has Castiel been out? He feels hungry, so it’s probably evening or night by now. Dean will be worried. And pissed.

Although the werewolf is watching, Castiel takes inventory. All his protective charms are gone, as is the jacket with its sigil linings and the little screwdriver he’d hidden in his shoe. There is a new cut on the inside of his right elbow, though it’s been bandaged neatly. They have his blood, but it can’t be very potent for spellwork since it was taken while he was unconscious.

On his left arm, his binding tattoo is intact. Well, as intact as it had been this morning. Castiel touches the length of the ink now, imagining Dean doing the same wherever he is.

Dean would also probably snap at Castiel. Something like, _“Why are you such a dumbass? Did you have to run?_ ”

To which Castiel would reply that he’d heard over the radio that Dean ran first, when they’d all agreed that no one was to do such a thing. If Dean got to do it, then Castiel got to do it.

“ _Last I checked, that was my job, not yours._ ”

The hunt may be Dean’s job, but the conflict and its risks are theirs to be shared. Castiel is as much involved as Dean is, perhaps even more so due to his relation with Lucifer. Dean knows this to be true.

“ _Dammit, Cas._ ”

Castiel really likes the way Dean says his name.

It’s funny, though, how Castiel used to dread his feelings for Dean being exploited. He still does, to an extent, but when Lucifer zeroed in on Castiel’s fear and threatened him with Dean’s life, Castiel hadn’t felt weak – the opposite, actually. If there’s one thing Castiel hadn’t expected, it’s that knowing what it’s like to be loved makes him feel like he can royally fuck Lucifer’s shit up. And Michael’s, too, if it comes to that

Castiel’s true fear now lies in his wish that Dean is keeping calm wherever he is. If he’s outside, Castiel hopes that he’s referring to the others – Victor, Charlie, Hannah – in figuring out what to do next. They’ll manage something, Castiel knows it.

It’s not so clear what Castiel can do to help where he is, though. The cage he’s in is tall enough that he can stand up, but he can’t check the bars for weaknesses with the werewolf standing guard. Castiel can’t even see much beyond the edge of the cage – the rocky corridor curves off to the side, hiding its secrets from view.

It’s eerily quiet, too, with only the occasional distant murmur to prove that Castiel and his lupine companion aren’t the only ones in here. They must be isolated, or these caves are extensive.

It’s a while before Meg returns. She has her own lantern in one hand, a tray in her other.

“Guess I was wrong about that room service,” she says.

Castiel watches her push the tray through the narrow space at the bottom of the bars, but makes no move to rise from the pallet that he’s sitting on.

“What did he promise you?” Castiel asks. “Your master?”

“You going to counter-offer?” Meg replies. “Overestimating yourself a little there, champ.”

“His best chance at beating Michael has passed,” Castiel says. “He can rebuild his garrison here, but by the time—”

“He’s been at this longer than you have,” Meg says, a little sharply. “How about you tone it down some?”

“No.”

“Worth a shot.” Meg turns, noticing something down the corridor, and then quickly adjusts her hair. The werewolf sits up a little, too.

Castiel might as well join them. He turns on his pallet, fully facing the bars as Lucifer comes to the view. He’s not wearing his jacket this time, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. This is at odds with his face, for he doesn’t seem much at ease.

“See to the radios,” Lucifer says quietly. “Let me know as soon as he loses the Hill.”

Meg bows and starts to leave, but pauses when Lucifer touches her arm. It’s a quick, acknowledging gesture, but Meg is practically glowing as she heads down the corridor.

“Where is my sister?” Castiel asks.

“There is one person who can make demands here, and it is not you. So, tomorrow, _you_ will send a message for me.” Lucifer is apparently uninterested in small talk now, and looms large in front of the bars. “I will provide you with a radio, and you contact Naomi. You will identify yourself, say where you are and who has custody of you, and you will order her to prepare terms for negotiation with me.”

“I’m not in contact with Naomi,” Castiel says.

Lucifer presses his lips together. “You’ll tell her that I will expose both of you, if you don’t do as I say.”

Castiel waits, but that seems to be the extent of Lucifer’s threat. “Is that supposed to be ominous?”

“I’m not my brother,” Lucifer says. “Pride may make him blind, but I don’t have that luxury. I know what you’ve done, why Michael has received no reinforcements from home, and why people aren’t rallying to his cause. Naomi can engineer a blackout but, as I said, I have many eyes and ears.”

Castiel has his face under control, but there are a few things that are abruptly clear. Lucifer thinks that Castiel sabotaged Michael. Better yet, Lucifer thinks that Castiel has the _means_ to sabotage Michael, as though Castiel isn’t minor nobility who’s been on the fringe of relevance for his entire life.

It would be laughable, if it weren’t so very familiar.

“So,” Castiel says, “if you know that, then you know that your time is limited.”

“It’s _your_ time that’s limited. You can preach justice and freedom all you like, but a coup is a coup, even if it’s fueled by… what is it, celebrity? Charm? Once the people see the extent of your lies, they will turn on you.” Lucifer shakes his head. “They will wonder how it was that Naomi picked you for the marriage arrangement. They will be amazed to learn how you, who had been chaste your whole life, would seek out a sexual partner on the eve of your wedding. A coincidentally _specific_ partner, too – your own fiancé’s brother.”

“It wasn’t the eve of my wedding,” Castiel says distantly.

“Picking at specifics now, are we? Well, that one loose thread will unspool everything else, revealing all the things you’ve done to get where you are. How convenient it was that an arranged couple was exchanged for an epic reunion of a childhood romance.” Lucifer laughs softly. “But if you establish yourself thusly in people’s hearts, the betrayal runs deeper. I suppose you thought the risk was worth it.”

What is it with people assuming the worst of Castiel’s intentions? If Castiel were being charitable, he’d assume that Lucifer’s mind has been warped by his years in exile, but that doesn’t explain everybody else. Maybe that’s just the legacy of Castiel’s manipulative family, proved by centuries of plotting and backstabbing.

There are exceptions to that rule, of course, and Castiel isn’t arrogant enough to think that he’s the only one. There’s Anna, and Balthazar is less interested in politics than making the most of his inheritance, and Gabriel is… All right, Gabriel is a manipulative bastard, but at least he doesn’t go around waging wars on people.

Frankly, all of this is bullshit (says the voice in Castiel’s head that sounds like Dean). Why does this have to be the norm? Why can’t they make something _better_?

“Is he in on it?” Lucifer asks. “Your husband, I mean. Oh, I know he’s in on the _lie_ – Sam was quite graphic about how Dean must’ve been coerced into playing along – but does he know about your endgame?”

Castiel would laugh, except that isn’t funny at all.

Lucifer says it so simply, as though any other option is inconceivable, as though Castiel’s endgame _has_ to be Lucifer’s. Castiel is very far down the line of inheritance – way after Raphael, Gabriel, Naomi, even Uriel – so he couldn’t possibly…

Except he could, couldn’t he. There are ways, if one is clever enough, devious enough.

Everyone knows that the alliance was Naomi’s brainchild, and now Lucifer believes that she’s been Castiel’s agent from the beginning. That paranoid thinking would mean that Castiel and Naomi must have been conspiring against Michael every step of the way, knowing full well about Michael’s true plan to engage Lucifer on the continent. Lucifer’s mention about how Castiel’s strategy is to ‘wait’ must mean that he believes that Castiel’s been spending all these weeks waiting for Michael and Lucifer to destroy each other, so that Castiel can be the one to rise from their ashes.

“Is that relevant?” Castiel says. “It’s enough that he’s important to me.”

“Yes, yes,” Lucifer says dismissively. “If you lose him, you lose your goodwill here and at home. But you must have promised him something remarkable, if he was willing to smile for the cameras and spew his lines to ‘Emmanuel’ all over the air.”

Of course Lucifer’s heard about Dean’s radio show. Of course he has. “Dean has an excellent presenter’s voice,” Castiel manages.

Lucifer inclines his head. “Indeed. It is an angle superbly played, I’ll give you that. But you cannot go any further without my sanction. Do we understand each other?”

“I understand that you need me,” Castiel replies. “Your only chance for success rides on what I have accomplished.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “You will contact Naomi. You have tonight to think about what you will say, and you will convince her to be agreeable with me.”

Castiel doesn’t respond, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to need an answer. Lucifer merely moves away from the bars, returning to the darkness beyond the corridor and presumably more comfortable lodgings elsewhere. After a moment, the werewolf relaxes its posture ever so slightly.

All right. Okay. Castiel can work with this.

That speech of Lucifer’s was too cold, too offended, to be anything but sincere. He’d sounded genuinely pissed off at the idea that Castiel and Naomi might have found a way to undermine Michael on their own. They’d been dishonorable, hiding their intentions in order to work within the system, instead of moving into open rebellion the way that Lucifer did in his youth. Now, Lucifer wants to get in on what Castiel and Naomi have supposedly done. Or perhaps he wishes to manipulate the situation to his own gain, positioning himself as the true hero to Castiel’s falsehood, the way he’d done with Michael.

Castiel’s legs feel a little shaky, so he lies back down on his pallet, turned away from the bars. It’s just worry and hunger, he tells himself.

This information casts their earlier conversation in new light, too. Castiel’s been talking to Lucifer as an equal this whole time, uncowed and unimpressed. Castiel is driven by anger, but Lucifer would’ve read it as arrogance. Better yet, Lucifer would’ve read it as Castiel’s having claimed a place of equal standing with him. With _Michael._

Castiel’s not just a resource to Lucifer, nor is he a threat. He’s a rival, and rivals to the throne tend to get killed.

He needs to think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Contains:** Captivity, assault, references to previous starvation, self-harm for strategic reasons, discussions about Dean/other.

One of Castiel’s earliest memories is the way Anna pinched him when he’d asked a question about their parents. She hadn’t done it to be mean; she’d been afraid, because she’d already asked the questions he was asking then, and the adults in their lives hadn’t been helpful.

There are things to be said for the memories that rise to the surface of one’s thoughts when one is stressed. Castiel is thinking about this now because he’s reminding himself of the years that have built up to this moment – not just his life, but Anna’s, their parents’, Michael’s, Lucifer’s, Naomi’s. Castiel has spent so long packing his anger away where it won’t hurt anyone, but in recent times he’s been told that his anger is valid, and that it deserves to be seen and acknowledged. Castiel didn’t know he needed to hear that, but Dean is smarter than him that way.

Yes, there is also Dean, whom Castiel is going to do his fucking best to return to. Lucifer put Castiel in such sparse confinement to intimidate him, and perhaps even to remind him where he was before and where he can end up in the future. Well, those fears are pale in comparison to what Castiel can strive for now; what Castiel knows he _deserves_ to strive for now.

Lucifer may use the lie they told to shame Castiel into compliance, but it’s interesting that his knowledge of the lie is faulty. There’s something very interesting about the phenomenon of his and Dean’s story developing a life of its own in the wild. Something about the story makes people see themselves reflected in it; those who need to see hope, love, or an idea of freedom, see those very things in the story. Lucifer sees duplicity and advantage.

Castiel may not have gotten much sleep due to his thinking about all of this, but he feels ready when Meg comes by the next morning with a wake-up call and breakfast.

“It’s not like it’s the Ritz here, Charming,” Meg says. “Give it back if you don’t want it.”

It takes Castiel a moment, but she’s referring to the untouched food that was left in his cage last night, not that Castiel cares about rationing. He stays where he is, lying flat on the pallet and staring up at the ceiling. Meg sighs and shoves a new tray under the bars.

“When you’re done, you have a date with His Highness,” Meg says. “Might wanna pretty up for that.” She gestures at the tray, where there’s a comb and washcloth for him to use.

Meg wanders off after that, but Castiel doesn’t rise from the pallet. He merely sits up, contemplates the tray, then stays where he is until Lucifer returns.

Lucifer has brought a small retinue with him this time – three of them, who hover respectfully back while Lucifer approaches the cage. Meg seems to have the most senior position by Lucifer’s shoulder, and then there’s the young man that had accosted Castiel at the Gas-n-Sip, plus another slightly older man that Castiel remembers seeing around Lucifer’s camp.

“You will get up,” Lucifer says. “You will get dressed in clothes of my preparing, and we will take a photograph together.”

“It won’t work,” Castiel says. “I’ve covered the local propaganda circuit by now. Any newsletter you put out now will just look petty and try-hard.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “Enough with that. We are allies now, Castiel. We worked together in toppling Michael from his dais.”

Castiel makes a show of thinking. “No, I don’t think so.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Of course it is,” Castiel replies. “Your movement has fallen apart. I gain nothing from allying myself with you.”

“You get to keep your position,” Lucifer says. “You are a liar—”

“Says you,” Castiel says. “It’s your word against mine, and people like me better.”

“No, people like you _and your husband_. It’s a packaged deal.”

“Then you should have captured him as well. You haven’t, so he’s still fighting for my cause out there.”

Lucifer sighs. Then, to Castiel’s surprise, he carefully sits down on the floor, just outside Castiel’s cage, and pulls the breakfast tray back through the opening. Meg rolls her eyes when Lucifer casually hefts the little sandwich up from its plate and starts eating it. Castiel’s stomach protests, but its grumbling is not loud enough to be embarrassing.

“You can’t trust them, you know,” Lucifer says, waving the partially-eaten sandwich at him. “These continental folk. It’s true that they’re easily manipulated, but they don’t stay the path. See how easy it was for Sam and his Campbell kin to turn from me. His brother will turn from you just as easily, with the right motivation.”

Castiel smiles wryly. “For some reason, I trust my own kin less.”

“True, true,” Lucifer concedes. “But they’re so different from us. They’re more emotional, more… primitive in their ways of thinking. I can tell you from experience that they’re difficult to control, even when you have solid leverage over them. I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing, but relying on them heavily is going to backfire on you, one way or another. I think it might even already have, with that terrible scarring on that tattoo of yours.”

Castiel keeps his hands down by his sides, quelling the urge to touch his arm. “So far I haven’t failed as badly as you have. Losing all the noble Houses in one fell swoop? Such a tragedy.”

Even in the dim lighting Castiel can see the flash of anger in Lucifer’s eyes, though he hides it quickly. “How do you reconcile yourself with the fact that your Dean already once tried to break the bond? How do you know that he won’t do it again, now that you’re out of the way? He’ll be free to return to that lover of his, what’s his name… Lafitte, wasn’t it?”

Castiel’s mask wavers. A surprised blink might’ve been acceptable, but Castiel can feel his facial muscles twitch, thanks to the sudden and most unwelcome mental image, and that flinch is no doubt visible across the handful of feet and through the bars that separate him from Lucifer.

“Did you know about that?” Lucifer asks curiously. “That your husband has been carrying on with that other man?”

“No marriage is perfect,” Castiel says.

“They may be discreet about it, but if my agent was able to see one incident of Dean getting drunk in his lover’s arms, there will be other incidents, and it will threaten your image. And if not this, then something else.” Lucifer shifts closer to the bars, intent as he is on making sure that Castiel is listening. “You are destined for greatness, but Dean is… made for different things. He will get distracted, or collapse under the pressure. There’s no shame in that – God loves His variety. It’s just a fact that the Winchesters, that whole clan, their priorities are not ours. You must learn from my mistake with Sam and the Campbells.”

“You’re offering advice now?”

“You’re useless if your plan collapses,” Lucifer snaps. “You’re right, you found an angle that works better than what I’ve done, but if you fail, then _all_ of us fail, and Michael stays right where he is. Do you think he will show mercy on everyone who’s supported me, or you? Do you think he will be _understanding_ with the Republic for not firmly taking his side?”

“He’s not as powerful as he used to be.”

“Because our people have options now. I tried to be one, but maybe I was too aggressive; I have been away too long. But you – you’re new, you represent hope, you could dismantle everything that was wrong in Michael’s regime. Michael’s rage will decimate our people, and you cannot save them if your allies aren’t strong enough. Is Dean strong enough? Is he ready to stand by you through all of that?”

Though Castiel’s mask has slipped, so now has Lucifer’s. This must be the passion that recruited people to his side, islanders and continental folk alike. He is convincing in his anger and his worry, and there is no doubt that Lucifer truly fears Michael regaining the absolute hold he used to have on the kingdom. Lucifer is also right in that Michael will not be merciful.

But that isn’t Castiel’s responsibility.

At least, he’s… fairly certain that that isn’t his responsibility?

Lucifer’s belief that Castiel wants (and can take) the crown is as much a fiction as Castiel and Dean’s teenhood love story. If Naomi truly is taking down Michael’s government from the inside, then she has her own goals independent of Castiel, and probably doesn’t even remember him. Castiel is just an accidental symbol, and goodness knows he’d never asked for any of this. Castiel wouldn’t know what to do with the crown if he had it, and Dean would… well.

“Your concern is noted,” Castiel says.

“You’re such a child.” Lucifer makes a faint noise of frustration. “Joke all you like, but you know that I’m right. What you’ve built is fragile. Naomi was a good choice, but you can’t have just one general.”

“I’m certainly not going to ask _you_.”

Lucifer shakes his head as he stands up. “You won’t cooperate?”

Castiel shrugs.

“Then I wish you a good day.” Lucifer inclines his head politely and steps back from the cage as though to take his leave.

The minions don’t back away with him, though. Meg steps forward and raises a camera that – after an absurdly loud click – has Castiel blinking spots away from his eyes.

Then there’s a creak of the cage door swinging open, and Castiel is half-blind during what happens next.

It’s not as though Castiel’s forgotten what Lucifer is capable of. People have forsaken their families for his sake, died for his sake. Lucifer only presents an image of kind words, implying that he is the sort of person who only turns to force when necessary. (As opposed to Michael, who uses force as a first resort.) Hasn’t Lucifer tried to reason with Michael instead of engaging him in direct battle? Hasn’t he tried to make friends with the people of the Republic? Hasn’t he tried to reason with Castiel? That’s how Lucifer would sell it, anyway.

For all that Castiel has spoken to him with arrogance, he hasn’t forgotten who he is.

So when Lucifer’s followers rush Castiel in his cell, hands grabbing at him before he can defend himself, Castiel’s surprise only comes from the unexpectedness of this happening _now_ , when it could’ve happened earlier, or at least after some creative threats.

They drag Castiel from the pallet, his knees hitting the floor. His arms are pulled, his hair grabbed, his sleeves yanked at. Castiel tries to knock his head against someone’s face, but they’re well out of range.

Lucifer doesn’t say anything. When Castiel’s vision returns, Lucifer is just standing there beyond the open maw of the cage. He doesn’t even have the decency to look interested in what’s happening.

Castiel can see a blade at the corner of his eye. It moves with purpose, too quick for Castiel to think of something to say beyond a stricken, “Don’t!” which is hardly a useful threat. Castiel’s been so good about protecting his tattooed arm the past few months, only for all his hard work to be undone by the one, two, three slices of a blade through skin.

A hand grabs at Castiel’s chin, hauling his face up to the light. Castiel opens his mouth to curse at Lucifer, but then Meg’s stepping forward to take another picture, the second flash of light making him hiss.

Then it’s over. The hands release him and Castiel drops onto the floor, bleeding and only belatedly remembering that any cut on his binding doesn’t count. Foreign hands cannot break a tattoo against the will of its owner, so this is only… for show. Act like a spoiled child, get treated like a spoiled child, or something to that effect.

Castiel distantly registers the cage door closing and footsteps retreating. He’s somewhat preoccupied with pressing his hands to his brand new wounds to care about that at the moment.

* * *

The hours bleed into each other. With nothing to occupy him, Castiel thoughts turn from irritation, to worry, to anger, to confusion.

Castiel wonders if they would be so careless as to let him bleed to death, or maybe get an infection from his wounds. His werewolf guard, who is still at its post outside Castiel’s cage, would probably alert Lucifer if something like that were about to happen, but that’s just an assumption.

Castiel shakes his head. That’s the kind of thinking Lucifer wants from him. A prisoner needs to be cut off from as many resources as possible, inclusive of the resources inside his head. Castiel has his pride, and his faith in his cause. He may not be a fighter like Dean, or righteous like Anna, but he knows that what Lucifer and Michael are doing is wrong, and he will stand against them.

Castiel needs to hold on to these thoughts in the darkness and quiet of this cave. And it _is_ quiet, startlingly so. He can’t make out any noises now beyond the corridor, leaving him to wonder if Lucifer and his crew have left the cave entirely, returning to the business of harassing Castiel’s town. Perhaps Lucifer is showing off his new photographic memorabilia.

No, Castiel won’t be humiliated by the thought of those photographs they’d taken. The only person Castiel doesn’t want seeing them is Dean, for obvious reasons, but everyone else can see what they like, believe what they like. It’s fine if Lucifer wants to spend his energy degrading Castiel, for that means his focus is no longer on those who _can_ make a difference in this conflict, i.e. Dean, Anna, Sam, Ellen, Naomi…

The best thing Castiel can do is keep himself alert and focused despite the mind-numbing boredom and his general worry about things he has no control over. His wounds are cleaned and wrapped using sheets from the pallet, and he knows he can survive on the pitcher of water for another two days. There’s also the tray, which Castiel has been ignoring on principle, but it’s been hours since they left it, so perhaps he should give it some study now.

Castiel approaches the bars, keeping eye contact with the werewolf as he does so, and pulls the tray closer to himself. All that’s left of the morning sandwich are crumbs, but there’s some dried fruit and a small clay bottle. The bottle turns out to contain wine, which should be a luxury, but it makes sense that they’d give him wine instead of proper meals.

Castiel raises the bottle to his nose and inhales. There is an unexpected tang in the aroma that gives him pause. Castiel is no wine expert, but he is an expert on certain other things. He pours some of the liquid out onto the plate and spreads it with his fingers.

There’s blood in the wine. It’s far too little to do anything substantial to Castiel, because consecrated and/or dirty blood are only fatal to some supernatural creatures. Any kind of blood _could_ be dangerous to regular human beings, but only in large volumes, making this a highly inefficient way to poison someone.

A memory stirs of Meg’s visit to the Gas-n-Sip. She’d said that Sam’s binding goes deeper than the cut can reach.

Castiel drops the bottle, which falls on the tray with clatter. He turns away, drops his hands flat on the ground and takes slow, deep breaths over his stomach’s threats to heave.

Through the bars, the werewolf watches him.

When Castiel’s stomach finally settles, he almost laughs, because for all that Lucifer says that he’s different from Michael, he’s really not. Michael turned to infernal concubine bindings to get what he wanted. Meanwhile, Lucifer turned to even older, infernal blood bindings to get what he wanted.

“Is that how he has you?” Castiel looks at the werewolf. “He fed you his blood, and now you’re bound to him?”

The werewolf blinks, its face inscrutable.

“We postulated that he’d made a deal with your kind,” Castiel says. “Promised you something in return for your allegiance. But if he fed you his own blood, he could pour his will into it and claim your mind. Not many people know, but that’s what the ancient priests used to do in the frontier temples, before the practice switched over to using other people’s blood for sacrifice. But this kind of control – it must have taken years.”

Years Lucifer certainly had, in exile. If he controlled his bleeding, it could be done with little harm to himself. And he could do it systematically, taking one creature after another, and each one he gained would be another one he could use to capture even more. There’s also no question whether Lucifer has the will of mind to make this happen; he could certainly pour his demand into every drop of seemingly free blood he’d used in offering.

It’s such an arcane, unholy practice that it’s been deliberately forgotten by the collective memory, much like the rest of their less-savory history. Castiel imagines that it’s such an unknown ritual that Lucifer could dress it up in whatever way he liked, tricking the creatures into thinking they’d found a free meal.

From there, it’s an equally easy step to dressing it up as a loyalty ceremony. Blood in wine can be fed to his loyalists, thus deepening the loyalty oaths already drawn on their skin. If anyone cuts the binding lines, they will grow back, for Lucifer owns all.

Sam couldn’t have known about this, for he would’ve mentioned if he’d drank Lucifer’s blood. Castiel imagines Sam in the capital, reunited with his parents and hopeful about moving on, only to be stopped by the stubbornly pristine lines of ink on his forearm. That could certainly compel him to take whatever steps he’s taken against Michael.

Castiel glares at the bottle. Such a small amount shouldn’t be useful, but if Castiel is hungry, isolated and scared, it increases the chances of Lucifer’s will affecting Castiel’s. It would still need time to accumulate in Castiel’s system, though, which at least tells him that Lucifer is willing to keep him down here as long as it is necessary to make him compliant.

Castiel very much prefers it when his pessimism is proven wrong. He’d hoped that Lucifer would at least offer _something_ different from Michael, or that he’d have learned from the terrible things done by the kings before him. But no, here they are. Everything that drove Castiel out of court remains true, even when the court itself is in an upheaval.

Wherever Naomi is, Castiel hopes that Lucifer’s intel is true and that she’s slicing off Michael’s power base, piece by piece. As for Lucifer, he’s too far away for Naomi to do anything directly. That means that it’s up to Castiel and Dean to get him in chains.

“Fuck this,” Castiel says.

* * *

In the unchanging mostly-dark of the cave, Castiel’s sense of time is warped. Is it evening? Night? Is it the day after his arrival? The only evidence that time’s passing at all is that when Castiel wakes up from another nap, there’s a new tray set by the bars. On it there’s another bottle of wine, also corrupted, along with more bread and dried fruit. Castiel doesn’t touch them.

* * *

Clay bottles break easily. The pieces aren’t sharp enough to do anything useful to the bars (which Castiel can’t do anything about anyway, with the werewolf standing guard), but they give something for Castiel’s fingers to play with as he’s lying on his pallet waiting for something to happen.

Castiel also realizes that the clay pieces can aggravate wounds that haven’t fully healed, of which he has a few.

* * *

It’s a relief when Meg finally returns to the cage.

Castiel is still lying on the pallet with his back to the bars, but he can hear her angry muttering as she approaches. “What are you doing? Castiel, what are you—”

There is only one lantern in this cave, but Meg can probably see the scrawls of blood on the floor. She might even be able to smell it, due to the place’s poor ventilation.

“Why didn’t you call someone?” Meg snaps, the question directed to the werewolf. “Yes, I know you’re not supposed to leave your post, but… Dammit.”

Castiel stays unmoving while the door rattles. A few clicks, and then there’s a faint groan of hinges and Meg’s footsteps as she enters the cage.

“You haven’t eaten a thing,” Meg says disapprovingly. “A hunger strike? You really think that’s going to work? Turn over. I said turn over.”

Castiel feels something sharp poke at his back – a knife, perhaps. Castiel keeps his eyes closed and his body lax as Meg manhandles him, rolling him over on the pallet. She should now be able to see how Castiel has reopened the wounds on his arms, spilling his blood on the pallet and floor in a mess of clumsy sigils. Sigils would be useless in here, of course, but a reasonable conclusion Meg could reach is that Castiel is at the end of his mental tether.

“Swell,” Meg says. “What were you hoping for, suicide by—”

Castiel may be hungry, but he has experience with hunger. Castiel’s work also means that he has experience with mild blood loss.

So it is that Castiel is able to catch Meg off-guard, surging up and shoving hard to throw her off-balance. The knife strikes at skin but that’s easily ignorable, for Castiel’s goal is to throw all his bodily weight at her, slamming her onto the ground underneath him.

They struggle, the knife clatters on the floor, Meg curses Castiel’s ancestry, and Castiel thanks Dean for showing him how to do a proper chokehold.

Castiel’s only true advantage here is surprise. Otherwise he doubts that he would’ve managed to get Meg underneath him as he has now, her face pressed to the harsh cave floor and her hands locked behind her back.

Castiel looks up now. The werewolf is standing up and has approached the bars – Meg had apparently closed the door behind her when she’d stepped inside the cage.

“I can undo your binding,” Castiel says quickly. “You must have heard of how—”

“Don’t you listen!” Meg yells.

“—I broke Sam Winchester’s binding. I can break yours as well.”

The werewolf pauses, golden eyes flicking between Castiel and Meg. Then slowly, it tips its head back and shifts. Its muscles move under its skin, its bones reposition themselves with eerie little cracks that are amplified in the closed cave. Castiel is captivated by the sight, but not _so_ captivated that Meg is able to dislodge him from his perch on top of her.

The werewolf is humanoid now, inasmuch as a werewolf can imitate the human shape. A human expression of curiosity is visible through the fur on its face. It says, “Break?”

“You are bound for life!” Meg hisses.

“No, no,” Castiel insists, “it can be cleaned, but it has to be done at the source. The binding has to be cleaned from Lucifer’s body, because he is the tether.”

“Oh, you mean you have to kill him?” Meg drawls. “That’s convenient.”

“No, it doesn’t need death,” Castel says. “There are other ways.”

The werewolf tilts its head. This creature may be open to discussion, but it will still kill him if it gets the chance. Castiel knows that it’s nothing personal.

“Can break,” the werewolf says. “But then you… _you_ take.”

“No,” Castiel says, while Meg laughs. “No, I won’t – I’m not interested in that. I don’t need soldiers, I just want to go home.”

“All kings need their soldiers,” Meg sing-songs.

“Well maybe if you and your master weren’t so damn short-sighted, you wouldn’t jump to that conclusion,” Castiel snaps. Then, to the werewolf: “I’m not asking you to help me, I’m just suggesting that you, perhaps, just… stay there. Not moving.”

The werewolf considers this. Then it raises a stiff human-shaped hand up to the door latch, lifting it open.

There is a second or two where Castiel is uncertain what the werewolf is about to do. It’s only when it staggers into the cage, teeth bared, does Castiel grab for Meg’s knife from where it’d fallen. Castiel can feel his heart beating wildly, but his thoughts are steady. He knows this, after all. He’s done it a hundred times, though only a handful of times with an aggressive specimen.

The scribbles of blood on the floor are many and messy, but that’s the point. They hide the few specialized sigils that are actually useful. Castiel scrapes Meg’s knife across one of those sigils now, then flings the knife up in sending the repelling energy out.

There’s a scream, a growl, and then the bars collapse under the weight of an unconscious werewolf.

“Son of a bitch,” Meg says. “You know you’re crushing my lungs.”

“Would you rather be unconscious?” Castiel asks.

“I might be into that if you ask nicely.”

“Where is Lucifer?” Castiel asks.

“I said _nicely_.”

“He’s going to lose,” Castiel says. “If this – if _I_ – am his last option, then he is out of ideas. Lucifer has spent the last of his energy coming here, to this place that has barely any resources, and is the opposite of defensible. Rexford is the worst place your master could’ve gone, and I know you don’t believe I’m worth it.”

“You don’t know shit,” Meg hisses. “You don’t know how hard we’ve—”

“You’re right, I don’t, and I don’t care. But I’m going to go now and I’m going to take Lucifer down. If you tell me something useful, I will be merciful when the time comes.”

For a moment, Meg doesn’t respond. Castiel even lets himself hope a little, but then she says, quietly and with none of her lazy grandeur of earlier: “No. You’re done, Charming.”

Castiel can admire her loyalty, even as he finds it frustrating. The only thing he can do now is knock her at the back of her head with the blade handle.

Now there are two unconscious persons in this cave that Castiel doesn’t know anything else about, or how to escape from. He’s going to have to wing it.

* * *

Castiel moves quietly and carefully, but not slowly. He can’t afford to be slow.

With Meg’s lantern to guide his way, Castiel learns that his cave is an end point of a rough, poorly-lit tunnel system. Said tunnels seem to have started out as a natural geological formation, but were carved deeper by human (and perhaps supernatural) hands. Castiel also guesses that those renovation works are recent, judging from the rubble still littering the floor.

Another thing that Castiel learns is that he was wrong when he’d assumed that the quietness down here was due to the tunnels being extensive. The real reason it’s so quiet is because barely _anyone_ is down here.

The cave’s main function seem to be purely for storage. Just around the corner of Castiel’s cave there’s a curved tunnel lined with boxes and carts of various essentials – dry foods, wood, paper, cloth, and other things that would be useful when surviving in the wilderness. Lucifer must be stockpiling things from all around the region, for Rexford would’ve noticed this much stuff going missing in such a short time.

Lucifer’s followers could stay down here in an emergency, but the poor ventilation and narrow space would make that terribly difficult. Better to live outside in the woods, and keep their valuable belongings – captives included – inside the ground.

Castiel creeps along as quickly as he dares, ears open for any noises. The tunnel splits a few times, necessitating double-backing once, but soon enough the air starts to clear, and Castiel can hear voices.

There is another split in the tunnel up ahead. To the right, Lucifer is being very angry with someone. Castiel cannot move into the left fork without being seen. He stands there and listens.

“It’s illegal,” Lucifer is saying. “She has no right to call for a Sitting, not with Michael outside the kingdom.”

“It’s not illegal in times of war,” someone replies. “There’s precedent, sire. King Jehudiel’s son made the call during the—”

“That was done by an heir,” Lucifer snaps. “This wasn’t called by an heir, not even by the Regent. Not to mention that there aren’t enough members to fill the seats, not without Raphael, Uriel and myself. Even if she had Castiel’s vote in absentia, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Gabriel and Joshua are enough to make the numbers, sire.”

“They have _always_ abstained.”

“Um. Not this time. They say.”

“So that’s it.” There is a scraping sound, like a piece of furniture being pushed along the floor. “A few words, a few votes, and Michael is no longer King.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Don’t presume to educate me on my own family. Naomi can say that they’re merely holding the throne until Michael’s son comes of age, but the conclusion remains. Michael is no longer king.”

“He can still retake the kingdom by force—”

“Which he can’t, because Harvelle has cornered him on the Hill,” Lucifer snaps. “They will come for us next, if we don’t move quickly. Summon the others. We only have a few days of a head start to get the word out. That move is illegal, and should be acknowledged as such.”

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Castiel considers and then discards the idea of hiding behind one of the barrels. It’s better to stand where he is and watch Lucifer’s minion appear around the corner, double-take, and go pale.

Castiel holds his gaze and approaches. The man takes a surprised step back, and then awkwardly follows Castiel when he walks on.

The passageway to the right branches off into a cave that’s larger and much more brightly lit than where Castiel came from. There are boxes and crates in here as well, but there’s also proper furniture, making it seem more like a proper room than anything else Castiel’s seen so far. There are only two people in here – Lucifer, who is standing and scowling at a map spread across a table, plus one of his followers who seems to be tinkering with a radio. Said follower drops their equipment in surprise when he sees him; Castiel belatedly recognizes him as the one who’d pulled his hair.

Lucifer’s whole body language shifts when he realizes who’s in the room, but he lifts his gaze slowly, lazily, as though surprises only happen to lesser people.

The radio crackles, and there’s a faint male voice saying, “ _Regrouping now, moving back to the river_.”

The man who’s holding the radio wants to reply but is frozen in place, eyes darting between Lucifer and Castiel.

“Tell them to keep pushing,” Lucifer says.

“How do you even have reception down here?” Castiel says.

“It’s called being resourceful,” Lucifer says. “Are you out on a stroll?”

Castiel shrugs. “I’ve gotten what I came for, so I thought I’d excuse myself.”

“Is that how it is,” Lucifer says.

“We can still negotiate, if you want.”

“I can still cut off your head, if you want.”

“That’ll be cutting off your own head,” Castiel says reasonably. “You have been in exile too long, cousin. The world has changed. The playing field has changed.”

“Not so much that I don’t know how to destroy you.” Lucifer delivers that threat sharply, with none of the aloof coolness of earlier. He is dismayed, and showing it. Lucifer has been working for this since he was a young man, and it must have felt so good when Michael fell right into his machinations. He came so close. _So close_.

Castiel knows that it is a risk to stand where he is, when he’s heard that Lucifer’s temper is as bad as Michael’s. Yet stand he does, and he says, “If we walk out here together, I will tell Naomi to—”

“I am not allying myself with a slut,” Lucifer snaps. “You will be done before I let you leave.”

“I’m happy to stay, if it’ll make you feel better.” Castiel smiles when Lucifer glares at him. “And I do agree that one of us is definitely done.”

“You think your husband is coming for you?” Lucifer scoffs. “I’ve spoken to him. Now he knows everything you’ve done to win a crown. Better yet, he knows that he doesn’t need you anymore. Harvelle and the Continental folk are close to ridding Michael all by themselves. You… are no longer essential.”

Castiel nods. “Does it make you feel better to say that out loud?”

“He is _gone_ ,” Lucifer snaps. “And with it everything – your whole story – is in _shambles._ ”

“I always knew that he would choose his family over me in the end. It doesn’t change the fact that Michael has been usurped, not by sword, but by committee.” Castiel shrugs. “It took me one year to accomplish what you failed to do in almost thirty.”

That does it. Lucifer’s eyes alight with rage and he charges at Castiel, finally giving in to a full-blown tantrum.

Castiel’s ready, of course. He has Meg’s weapons – her knife, her silver, and her small baton of dubious purposes of which Castiel now swings out from under his shirt to slam against Lucifer’s shoulder.

Again, the element of surprise comes to Castiel’s aid. That, plus Lucifer’s minions – only two of them, both young – are hovering back, uncertain on whether to jump in and help their master. On the one hand, Lucifer is currently being punched in the face by his upstart rival, but on the other hand, Lucifer wouldn’t be very impressive if he can’t at least get a returning punch on his upstart rival.

As far as brawls go, this isn’t an impressive one. Lucifer is much older, and Castiel is hungry, tired, and not all that experienced in shoving another human being into furniture. But there is something to be said for the satisfaction that surges through Castiel at the startled, panicky look in Lucifer’s eyes when he realizes that Castiel is not holding back.

To be royal is to be holy, and that holiness is a barrier between a prince and the rest of the world. Princes talk, make decisions, send orders; the meting out of physical action is the task of other, lesser people. And to _receive_ physical punishment is unthinkable, impossible. Castiel is not a prince right now. He is not going to respect his elder, either.

A small voice by Castiel’s ear whispers: _Dude._

Castiel blinks and takes a breath.

There’s sweat on his eyelids. Beneath him, Lucifer is making soft noises of irritation, while their audience of two is staring at them in various degrees of horror. Castiel is jolted back to the present when Lucifer starts to crawl away, so Castiel puts a stop to that by lowering himself down and pressing a firm knee of Lucifer’s lower back. No doubt Lucifer is summoning his creatures back to him, so Castiel has to move quickly. He grabs the small packet at the back of his pants – spare salt, from Meg’s jacket – and throws a quick circle around them.

“This man is done,” Castiel says. He keeps his eyes on Lucifer’s two minions as he brandishes Meg’s knife. “All of you know this. You’ve known this the moment he gave up his strategic positions and fled here, where you cannot make any useful stand against any enemy. He is done, and you will go down with him if you stay.”

“You are no king,” Lucifer says.

“Thank God for that. I would make a terrible one.” Castiel grabs the back of Lucifer’s collar, holding it taut so that he can cut through the cloth of his shirt. “I am going to break your binding anchor. It would be convenient to you to tell me where it is.”

Lucifer laughs. “Are you that determined to have my creatures roaming freely around your precious Rexford?”

“I am breaking it,” Castiel says. “Unless you would rather I kill you.”

“You…” Lucifer was about to say _wouldn’t_ – Castiel can tell – but the word doesn’t come. Castiel must have put on quite the show. Instead, Lucifer says, almost sadly, “I wonder what your parents would think, seeing what you’ve become.”

“I will never know, thanks to you and your father,” Castiel says. “Nice try, though.”

“Sire,” one of the men says.

Castiel lifts his head, glaring at the other two. “You can defend his honor now, if you want. You can even throw me back in the cell if you want. But the wind has been changing for a while, and this is your last chance to set your sails by it. I’m not asking you to help me, or to abandon your master. It’s understandable that he wishes to stay his path, but… it will destroy him. Lucifer just said it a moment ago: once Michael is dealt with, eyes are going to turn here. The cleansing will be thorough. Let us help each other.”

The radio crackles again: “ _We’re going after the north flank. Pushing on._ ”

If at least one of these followers is as loyal to the cause as Meg, Castiel is going to be in trouble. The strain of the past few days is slowly seeping back into his limbs, and he doesn’t think he can take down an adult in their prime, let alone two.

Then one of them says, “What will you do to His Highness?”

Castiel looks down at Lucifer. “I am claiming him.”

“Claiming me,” Lucifer says flatly. “You.”

“You’re so adamant on doing things the old-fashioned way, I’m only being obliging,” Castiel says. “Later on there will be a tribunal, though I can’t say how it will proceed. He and all of his clan will be under my protection until then.”

“I haven’t lost yet,” Lucifer says.

“You said that the last time, too, I expect.” Castiel returns his gaze to the others. “I am not Michael, and I am not Lucifer. How about it?”

* * *

The bluff pays off. Castiel figures that he’s earned it, what with so many things in his recent history going wrong one after another.

Castiel is light-headed from hunger and blood loss, but he holds it together long enough to put together what he already knows Naomi will later report as Lucifer’s formal surrender. Castiel also expects that the past few days will be embellished, romanticized, and described as involving far more impressive strategizing than Lucifer risking his resources on a bad choice and Castiel striking at him at a low point in his campaign.

None of that really matters, though. What matters is that Castiel has convinced a handful of Lucifer’s followers to stand down for the sake of saving their master from further humiliation. That said, Castiel’s control of the situation is highly tenuous, so as soon as he’s able, he absconds with Lucifer’s radio in making a dignified exit from the cave. Lucifer’s two assistants are making their currently-unconscious lord comfortable, and that will keep them occupied for a while.

The cave exit, as it turns out, is just around the corner. Castiel reaches the lip as soon as he’s set the frequency of the radio, and quickly says into speaker: “Hello. This is Castiel. Is anyone out there?”

If Castiel could, he would savor his first step out into fresh air and his first glimpse in a while of the sky. (It’s gray, which would make it early evening. Or early morning? Castiel has a mild headache that he usually gets from staying up to grade papers, so it’s probably early morning.) But there’s no time for such things yet, not when Meg could wake up and Lucifer’s other followers could return at any moment.

“Hello, this is Castiel,” he tries again.

There’s a crackle, and a voice clear as crystal, “ _Castiel?_ ”

“Yes,” Castiel says, relief washing over him at the familiarity of Anna’s voice. She made it out safely; of course she did. “Yes, it’s me. I’m at a cave that Lucifer’s using as a base of sorts. I’m able to move now, but I can’t see any landmarks so I’m not sure where I am.”

“ _Oh, oh my God, okay. Can you send a flare or a signal?_ ”

Then another voice, male, yells, “ _No flares! Jesus_ Christ _, Cas. Start moving, uphill if you can, get to higher ground. Or if you can hear water, head towards it._ ”

A shiver rolls through Castiel’s body at the sound of Dean’s voice. Castiel licks his lips, trying to think of something to reply with that wouldn’t sound inane, only to be jolted by the sound of a gunshot in the distance.

Now Castiel can hear other noises as well. Shouting, roaring, and less startling gunshots from possibly less ostentatious firearms.

“I could head towards that?” Castiel suggests.

“ _Might wanna try the opposite of that_ ,” Dean says. “ _We are kinda in the middle of something, if you didn’t…_ ” there’s a heart stopping pause as something cracks loudly over the speakers, “... _know. Ugh._ ”

“But how will you find me if I head in the other direct…” Castiel trails off at the sound of rustling branches.

There’s a wraith hovering between the trees. It’s probably the same wraith he’d seen before, its smoky form passing through the leaves as it approaches. Perhaps it’s answering a summons to its master, and if that’s the case, Castiel’s glad that it was delayed.

“The anchor is broken,” Castiel tells it. “He will need to be cleansed entirely for the binding to be purged, but it is a first step, and he cannot compel you to do his bidding.”

“ _What in the what now?_ ” Dean says.

It is Castiel’s wicked hope that the wraith will go to Lucifer to inflict justice over its time being held under the prince’s thrall. But that is to apply human thinking to a creature that follows somewhat different laws of existence. One human is almost the same as any other human, and if this wraith is without orders now, it will do as it wishes.

It must be able to smell Castiel’s aggravated wounds, too. His general exhaustion would be a draw as well.

“Lucifer is in the safehouse,” Castiel says, still hopeful. He could make a stand with Meg’s knife, but iron would be far more effective.

Then the wraith soars towards him, which solidifies Castiel’s decision.

Castiel darts into the woods, leaping over undergrowth and ducking past low branches. He’s focused on the forward and not looking back, which is why he’s traveled quite a few yards before he remembers that he’s supposed to find high ground, or the river. Well, that can’t be helped, for his priority is to get away from the screeching creature at his back.

The radio, still in Castiel’s hand, exclaims, “ _Cas? Cas!_ ”

Other people. Castiel needs to find other people. He makes a large, clumsy turn roughly in direction of the skirmish noise, and is soon rewarded when he practically runs into two people who are arguing with each other and a radio they’re holding between them.

“No,” one’s saying, “we can’t fall back without the order, or…”

He stops, and the three of them stare at each other for a second, and as soon as Castiel recognizes them from Lucifer’s camp – the young man is the one who’d just arrived, he recalls – he turns and flees in another direction. Castiel makes it a few yards through the thicket before he hears them scream when the wraith catches up.

Okay, good. Castiel keeps running for a while, not at a dead sprint but just fast enough to put some safe distance between himself and the wraith. Then, when he finally feels a little safer, he stops, leans heavily against a nearby tree, and brings the radio back up.

“Sorry,” Castiel says, panting for breath. “Had to save my breath making an exit.”

“ _No shit_ ,” Dean snaps. “ _Where are you now_?”

“Um.” Castiel looks around, but it’s still mostly trees. The ground is slanting downwards a little, though, which sabotages Dean’s suggestion to get to higher ground. “I’m not sure. What about you, are you okay?”

“ _Been having a party,_ ” Dean says wryly. “ _I’m thinking you should stay where you are for now, we’ll come get you once we’ve, uh, cleared out the rabble._ ”

“Have they lost cohesion?” Castiel says. “The creatures not behaving as they’re supposed to?”

There’s a pause. “ _Yeah, something funny just went down, it’s even more mayhem._ ”

“Ah, that would be my fault.”

“ _Yeah_?” It’s strange, how Castiel can hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “ _You gotta tell me all about that_.”

“And you’ll have to tell me about what’s been happening with our other friends,” Castiel says. “I was told that there’s been an ousting?”

Dean sighs. “ _Yeah, that’s… something else. You sitting tight now, buddy?_ ”

Castiel pushes himself off the tree and starts walking, slowly and carefully this time. “I’m going to find somewhere more distinct, so you can find me.” He pauses, and then decides to hell with it: “I knew you were looking for me. It’s… new for me, to be so sure of something. And I was, I just… I, um. I wanted you know that.”

There’s a long pause, only broken by the occasional muffled yell or noise on Dean’s side of the communication.

“Oh, not that I would have minded,” Castiel says quickly. “I mean, of course there are other things that are also… your family, of course, and… other things of higher urgency, which isn’t the same as important.”

In the darkness of the cave, Castiel had been sure of Dean’s commitment to finding him, because doubt was a weakness Lucifer would exploit, and Castiel wouldn’t let that happen. But now that the sun’s rising and he’s breathing fresh air again, he’s remembering that reality is more complicated than that. Love and care isn’t a zero-sum game, and it’s unfair of Castiel to expect that of anyone, even Dean.

It occurs to Castiel now that Dean might be dealing with internal conflicts of his own. If Lucifer was telling the truth that he’d met Dean, and shared with him his beliefs of Castel’s agenda, then Dean would still be processing that, now, despite his still being here and holding the line in Rexford.

“Dean,” Castiel says. How does he start defending himself on something so ludicrous? How does he—

“ _But I didn’t find you_ ,” Dean says, voice barely audible. “ _I didn’t get to you in time._ ”

Castiel’s breath catches. “No, that’s not the point.”

“ _Of course it’s the fucking point. I’m supposed to protect you, how can I even—_ ”

“You’re doing it right now,” Castiel insists. “You did it then, and you never stopped. You were with me every second I was held by Lucifer, because I believe in you. And you… believe in me. I think you know, don’t you, whatever it is Lucifer told you—”

“ _Dude’s off his rocker, is what he is_ ,” Dean says. “ _The whole world seems to be, when it comes to you and me_.”

“But the whole world can believe what it wants to, right?”

“ _Right._ ” There it is again, the smile in Dean’s voice.

Castiel has to stop walking. He has to stand still, holding the radio up to his ear, and breathe quietly. “Thank you, Dean.”

“ _Just sit tight, okay? I think I got an idea where that cave of yours might be, I’m heading your way._ ”

“Don’t go alone,” Castiel says. “Lucifer is incapacitated for now, but you’ll need to take proper control of the base. I would’ve held it myself but I’m short of resources at the moment.”

Dean snorts. “ _See, you wouldn’t be short if you’d stuck with your whatsit – your retinue._ ”

“My posse?”

“ _Hah! Yeah. See, I don’t get how anyone would think that – whoa, hey!_ ”

Castiel starts. “Dean?”

“ _Hold that thought. We think we might be nearing that cave of yours._ ” There’s a rustle, and then muffled noises – soft, vague, and then something loud that has Castiel stiffening in alarm.

So this is what it’s like for Dean, to not know what’s happening on the other hand, and feeling helpless to do anything about it. Castiel tells himself not to be fearful, and the best thing he can do right now is do exactly what Dean said before and get himself to a landmark.

Castiel holds the radio close, and tries not to feel anxious at the rising voices on the other end. He tries to focus on the fact that he’s definitely walking downhill, though the slope is subtle. In fact, there’s the river up ahead, just visible through the treeline. Castiel quickens his pace over the last few yards, entering the clearing where a stream cuts through the forest.

This stream is too narrow and shallow, so it must be a branch off from the main river. Castiel starts walking upstream, but the jolt of excitement that had come from hearing Dean’s voice is starting to wear off. Castiel has indeed spent the better part of two days doing not much more than waiting, and although he’s stopped being hungry, the blood loss coupled with his recent sprinting is finally making him dizzy.

Castiel finds a place to sit near the treeline, not so close to the stream that he’s exposed. He wishes he had more salt on him, but the knife will have to do. The gunshots at least seem to have stopped.

Although the sun is rising, it’s difficult trying to stay awake. Castiel’s brain feels foggy, casting everything he can see with a sheen of dreamlike unreality.

Castiel tries to think about Michael, apparently cornered in the Capital now that Ellen has finally gotten her act together. Or perhaps she’d always had her act together, and was merely biding her time, letting Michael show his hand first so she wouldn’t be caught in an awkward position again with the Council. Maybe she and Naomi have brought their alliance to a new level, both of them still desiring to keep to the initial alliance and removing the unwanted players by force.

Assuming that everything Lucifer said was true, Castiel is not at all surprised that Naomi has found a way to take Michael down from a distance. Naomi could not have been happy to have been sent home when Michael made his agenda known, and goodness knows Naomi wouldn’t take that lying down. Rachel said that they had it under control, and maybe they did. Although removed from the scene, Naomi would have gone to work taking down Raphael and cutting Michael from the homeland – preventing him from getting supplies and reinforcements – thus making it easier for Ellen to do her part and force Michael to reveal his limitations as king and leader.

Perhaps, once this is all over, it will have turned out to be better than what the original alliance might have been. That’s wishful thinking, Castiel knows, but if Michael and Lucifer really are done, it would genuinely be a new age for everyone, not just the Isles.

They wouldn’t even need the marriage to hold the alliance together, for simply working together so clandestinely and successfully would’ve brought the two nations closer. The trust forged in that would be worth far more than a foolish, photogenic symbol.

That would be nice, Castiel thinks. He and Dean wouldn’t have to _be_ anything to anyone anymore. They could just be themselves, doing what they want, and… Castiel knows that he’s projecting too far from things he doesn’t yet know fully. But it’s nice to dream.

There’s footsteps and rustling nearby. And a voice: “Cas!”

Castiel jerks his head up, blinking owlishly in the morning glare. That looks like Dean silhouetted over the rise, but that can’t be right, Castiel never told him that he’d found the river. But the figure now making their way over the undergrowth towards him does look like Dean and sound like Dean, so perhaps Castiel should stand up.

“I never said I found the river,” Castiel says.

“It’s called following a trail,” Dean says. “You made a hell of a mess on your way here.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “My bad.”

Dean frowns and presses a hand on Castiel’s forehead. He’s close enough that Castiel can take a deep, comprehensive breath and confirm that yes, indeed, that is what Dean smells like. Perhaps a little sweatier and dirtier than normal, but that’s to be expected.

“Geez,” Dean says quietly. “Okay, let’s take it easy.” Then, over his shoulder, “Guys, perimeter, now. Keep me posted on the squad at the back. Where’s the kit?”

Dean’s hand is firm around Castiel’s elbow, guiding him to sit where he was a second ago. There are other friendlies moving around them in a loose circle – there’s Tara jumping across the stream to check the other side, plus a few of those young people Castiel just met a few days ago moving through the undergrowth – all of them quiet or talking softly into their radios. In contrast, Dean and Castiel are sitting on the ground, which doesn’t seem all that productive.

“This doesn’t seem all that productive,” Castiel says. “Shouldn’t we be heading back?”

“We’re waiting for the others to clear the cave first.” Dean pulls out a flask from his jacket, and unscrews it carefully with his thumb. “Found your cousin, though he’s not saying much.” There’s a flash of teeth when Dean grins, and Castiel grins back at him.

“Why are you only using one hand?” Castiel asks.

“Skills.” Dean makes an annoyed sound when Castiel paws at his jacket. “Can you at least take a drink of this first?”

Castiel makes a face. “No alcohol.”

“You gotta get something in you, man.”

“No alcohol,” Castiel says firmly. “You hurt yourself again.”

“I’d hurt less if you’d stop poking at my ribs.” Dean flails a hand at something just out of Castiel’s line of sight, and then someone is handing over a small pack and a water bottle with the cap already off. “Cas, hey. How about this? You okay with water?”

Castiel keeps squinting at Dean, even as he’s taking a careful swig of the bottle and then wiping his mouth dry. “You’re hurt yourself. Injuries on top of injuries. You were supposed to be taking it easy.”

Dean gives him a look. “And you were supposed to stick with the group.”

“I wanted to rescue you.”

“Yay, so both of us didn’t get what we wanted. Do you need a hand with this?”

“With what?” Castiel finally registers that Dean’s unfolded a first aid kit, with bandages and antiseptic and other goodies. “See, you’d be able to do that if you had use of both of your hands. Let me see.” Ignoring Dean’s groan, Castiel slips his fingers inside Dean’s jacket, careful as he makes out the makeshift sling holding Dean’s left arm tight to his chest. “You look terrible. Did you get any sleep?”

“’Course I did,” Dean says.

“Did you get any sleep over the past two days,” Castiel amends.

“Yeah, totally.”

“How many consecutive hours?”

“Okay, look, only one of us is gonna do that, and it’s not gonna be you, because you’re looking like the kind of vampire that even the most hardcore hunter would let go ‘cause it looks just _that_ sad.”

“Did you bruise your ribs again?” Castiel trails his fingers down from Dean’s collar, finding the edge of what must be new bandages or extra padding underneath shirt. Then he moves to study the length of Dean’s sling, careful not to aggravate anything that shouldn’t be aggravated, and in doing so his fingers catch something in the jacket lining.

“Boss,” someone off to the left says quietly. “It’s just the two runners left, plus the dragon. Cave’s locked down.”

“Good,” Dean replies. “Call it in to Victor, so he can move in with his sweep. Um, Cas?”

Castiel pulls out a photograph from Dean’s jacket pocket. No, not a photograph, a magazine clipping, ripped such that it focuses on a single, familiar image. Castiel knows this clipping, because he’d found it back when he’d snooped around Dean’s room (Benny’s room) at Turner Estate. He was appalled to find it then. He’s still appalled to find it now.

“You have better photos of me now,” Castiel says unhappily. “What was the point of getting Charlie to take pictures of us if you’re not going to use them?”

“I do use them.” Dean’s voice is warm and teasing. “I got ‘em stashed all over the place.”

“But this one…” In the photos that Charlie took of them, they’re open with their feelings for each other, yet Dean carries with him this image of Castiel from their last interview with Chuck at Ilchester, with Dean’s part of the image cleanly torn away. “You wish to remember an unhappy time?”

“Wow, that really bugs you, huh.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Castiel says. “This is a point of time when I was immeasurably angry at you. It’s not flattering to know that you want to remember that.”

Dean’s responding smile is small, almost coy. Castiel is startled enough that he drops the clipping, which Dean deftly picks up and twirls in his fingers. “You remember this day pretty well, right? Me, too. In fact, uh… In fact, this was the exact moment I realized I was in love with you.”

Castiel blinks. “This moment. _This_ moment?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, nodding. “I mean, I was already mostly there, anyway, but right that sec was when it clicked.”

“But I was so…” Castiel has to look at the clipping again, with the picture of his terrible, cold face. “I was furious at you.”

“Yeah, but that was ‘cause of the other things,” Dean says. “And although you were pissed, you wouldn’t let Chuck talk smack about me. You were so offended, it was like only you were allowed to talk shit about me, no one else. Not even me.”

“And that’s romantic?” Castiel says in disbelief.

“I know I’m weird, but that’s why you dig me,” Dean says with a grin. He leans in now, eyelids drooping to half-mast and lips parting, and Castiel remembers that, oh yes, he’d forgotten about kissing. Castiel really does enjoy kissing Dean, and it really is very nice how gentle Dean is with him now, despite the urgency of recent times and Dean’s clear exhaustion and worry and low-key irritability.

It’s absurd how much Castiel misses Dean, although they’ve been apart longer and under more hazardous conditions than the past few days. This kissing is wonderful, Castiel was already happy to sit with him and talk with him, even if it’s about pictures he’s just now understanding the appeal of.

Dean pulls back first, though his mouth stays warm against Castiel’s. “How you feeling now?”

“Your eyes are bloodshot,” Castiel says.

“They’re awesome anyway, right?”

“Yes.”

There’s a faint, confused voice somewhere to Castiel’s left, murmuring, “But they don’t need to do that anymore.”

The words make no sense to Castiel, but Dean pulls back sharply, his scowl fierce as he snaps, “Hey, I told you to drop it.” When Castiel turns, he recognizes the speaker as one of Hannah’s flock, who shies away at Dean’s rebuke.

“That’s mean,” Castiel says.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s just some…” Dean waves a hand meaninglessly in the air.

“I think this is the part where you shouldn’t censor yourself,” Castiel says quietly.

Dean rolls his eyes, but Castiel has the feeling that it’s not directed at him. “Lucifer said some shit that _some_ people can’t let go.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “About me?”

“About us,” Dean says. “That it was all just an agreement between us to pave your way to the throne. Believe it or not, some of your posse thinks that makes you even _cooler_ , because it shows your commitment to sparkle motion.”

“My commitment to what?”

“To taking Michael down,” Dean says. “I shut it down, but you know how it is. People talk anyway. It was kinda hilarious, Lucifer tried to counter your… whatever it is you’re supposed to have offered me.”

“What could he have possibly had to offer?”

“Letting Sam go, for one,” Dean says. “Ah, geez, don’t give me that look. I knew it wasn’t a real deal, and even it was, I wasn’t gonna take it as soon as he hit me with his second offer.”

“Which was?”

“The chance to be free from you.” Dean bursts out laughing at this – eyes scrunched up and almost falling over, the works. “It was so – what the _fuck_ , I could barely keep a straight face. I figured you were playing him or something, so I went along with it, and did he really think that I’d jump at the chance of a divorce? He even gave me a vial of your blood so I could break my part of the binding easily. Like, where the hell did that come from?”

“Some people see what they want to see,” Castiel says. “So you strung him along?”

“Yeah, did that, told him I’d think about it, and then we rammed him with everything we had.”

“That sounds challenging,” Castiel says.

“Nah, we got a few volunteers from Turner’s, plus Hannah had another shipment of your, uh… your fanclub. And _apparently_ they have no problem following orders from me, ‘cause it’s the same thing as following orders from you. That helped.”

“Are you trying to keep me awake?” Castiel says. “You’re talking quite rapidly.”

“Bit of this, bit of that.” Dean rolls his thumb gently against the side of Castiel’s jaw. “You could tell me how your hair’s back the way I like.”

“But that’s uninteresting.”

Castiel plucks the magazine clipping from where Dean’s flicking it back and forth restlessly, almost nervously between his fingers, and helps return it to its place in Dean’s jacket. How typical that such a weighty moment should have passed Castiel by. It is vital that he find his copy of that picture – it must still be in the cottage - so he can better study Dean’s face in it.

“I did wonder why you’d torn your half of the picture out,” Castiel says.

“Yeah.” Dean’s laugh is a little shaky. “Of all the luck for _that_ moment to be caught on camera for the whole world to see, right? Embarrassing as heck.” Castiel thinks that last part might not to be entirely true.

“Though there is something almost magical about having it captured that way,” Castiel admits. “And it’s not as though anyone would know the picture’s true meaning except you. And me, now. In comparison, my moment has to stay a simple memory, only to be studied within the recesses of my mind.”

“Your what?”

“The moment I knew that I loved you,” Castiel says. “Back at Joshua House.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“The night before you left,” Castiel says. “I was angry then, too. Not at you! At myself, for being such a hypocrite with my feelings when I’d told you that such things were not… they couldn’t happen. I suppose that that says something about myself.”

Dean’s brow knits together. “The night before I left?”

“Yes, you remember, it was after we watched that play, and that whole day afterward was… It was wonderful, and you were wonderful. To borrow a phrase, I was mostly there anyway, and all it took was you just being…” Castiel trails off and looks at Dean properly. Dean’s still frozen a little strangely, and Castiel mentally rewinds the last few seconds. “You do know that I love you, right?”

“What? Yeah. _Yeah_ ,” Dean says, a little too loudly, a little too cockily. “Of course, I’m not stupid.”

Oh hell.

Castiel stares. “I haven’t… really?”

Has Castiel never told Dean this? It feels impossible with all the quiet moments they’ve made for each other in the days and the nights since finding each other in the Turner Estate mess hall. They’ve talked so much and covered so much ground – Castiel thinks he could talk for days on the things he’s learned about Dean, and surely it must be the same in other direction.

It is a treasured part of who Castiel has become, and what does it say about Castiel that he hadn’t even fucking bothered to make sure that Dean knew?

Dean’s smiling softly at him, but that’s not wholly right, either. Dean is a creature of emotion, and he should be stammering, blustering, unable to look Castiel in the way he always – _always_ – does whenever Castiel says something in praise of him. For Dean to be so calm now, Castiel wonders if he truly understands what Castiel has said.

“Cas, Cas, hey,” Dean says, so gently that Castiel twists away, refusing to let Dean touch his face. “Of course I know how you feel.”

“But you need to hear it,” Castiel says. “Actions are important to you, but words are important as well, and you need to _know._ ”

“I do know,” Dean says. “It’s in everything you’ve done. I got eyes, man.”

Is that enough? Castiel wants to insist that it can’t be, which means that he’s done wrong by Dean. Castiel knows that he must be constantly glowing with his feelings by now, whether or not Dean is within speaking distance, but that’s not the same thing as confirming it with a statement that would destroy any doubt lingering in Dean’s mind. Goodness knows Castiel’s harbored that kind of doubt himself.

Castiel could say this, but any hint of self-flagellation would just make Dean work even harder on trying to comfort Castiel back, and they would keeping going round and round in circles that way.

“Hey, boss,” says a tentative voice out of Castiel’s line of sight. “Victor’s checking in.”

“I gotta take this,” Dean says. “Cas, do you want help, or can you handle this yourself?”

“I can do it myself,” Castiel says, glad to have something to do. He’d rather Dean not see his injuries but there’s no helping that now, especially with how the cuts are starting to itch. Castiel keeps his head down as he unpeels the makeshift wrappings around his forearm, and half-listening to Dean’s chatter on the radio.

“No, we take all of them,” Dean’s saying. “Mayor Case still has jurisdiction so the Sheriff can take the lead.”

“ _What about Luci?_ ” Victor asks.“ _We never actually got the go from Ellen to_ —” He’s cut off by a very shrill, very distinct Meg yelling over him, “ _—going to destroy you! Everyone will know, you can’t hide what you’ve done—”_

There’s a clatter, muffled shouting, and then Victor’s back on with a loud, “ _Sorry ‘bout that_. _Someone’s got a lot of opinions to share with the class. So, yeah, about Lucifer. Gonna use Ellen’s name or what?_ ”

“You can use mine,” Castiel says, leaning over so his voice can travel over the radio. “I don’t have the authority, but I have claimed him as a prisoner of war. He’s under my protection until we can get him to trial, so you can put him under house arrest as is necessary.”

“You claimed Luci,” Dean echoes. “Like, battlefield _spoils_ claim.”

“It seemed appropriate,” Castiel says.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Before or after you conked him on the head?”

“Before, of course. I’m not completely uncivilized.”

“ _You married into that, man_ ,” Victor says, chuckling over the radio. “ _So you cool with it or what?_ ”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean says. “Let us know when it’s cleared.”

Castiel turns to the young man currently guarding their position. “Excuse me? Esper, wasn’t it? I need your assistance.” The man starts, but quickly kneels down to help cut the bandage that Castiel’s wrapping around his forearm. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir,” Esper says quietly. “I’m honored to have played a part in the liberation.”

Castiel huffs. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“That reminds me,” Dean says. “Hey, Tara! Call it in to Jo. Ellen’s gonna want to know we’ve bagged and tagged Luci. It’d put the pressure on those last few holdouts. Michael’s done.”

“They’ve truly managed to wrest control of the capital?” Castiel asks.

“Nah, not the whole city,” Dean says, “but Ellen’s gonna have a hell of an ace to play if she’s the one who took Lucifer down, instead of Michael or any of the other Houses.”

“You wouldn’t want the credit for that?” Castiel asks.

Dean contorts his face hilariously. “What, do _you_?”

“I didn’t actually do anything.”

“Says the guy who just two seconds ago hollered how he’d claimed the freakin’ exile that Michael’s been hunting.”

“That was neither skill nor strategy. It was just… luck.” It’s promising that Dean’s speaking of Ellen and the capital so easily, with less of his anger and anxiety of earlier. They were due for some good news after the blackout, and Castiel is only sorry that he wasn’t there when it came through. Castiel’s imagination fails to picture a Michael backed into a corner, though. He may have seen Lucifer stressed and pissed, but the mirror of that with Michael eludes him. Castiel is sorry for that, too. “Michael’s going to be furious.”

Dean grins. “Best part.”

“Hey, Winchester,” Tara calls out. “Not that I’m not enjoying the sunrise…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean glances at his watch, and then cocks his head at Castiel. “How’s about we get some breakfast now?”

“I do like breakfast,” Castiel says. They stand up together, Castiel just stopping himself from reaching out to balance himself on Dean’s shoulder, because Dean’s dealing with his own injuries right now. Dean does notice Castiel’s abortive movement though, and bobs his head in sheepish apology.

Castiel has to work on this, too. Dean regrets his inability to rescue Castiel from Lucifer, and now he can’t even let Castiel lean on him as they pick their way through the undergrowth. Castiel doesn’t mind, but Dean would read more into that. There’ll be time for indulgent touches in the immediate future, once they get back to town.

Then there’s the intermediate future, and the distant future. God, Castiel hopes that it’s as much within reach as it feels. He may be an expert at waiting, but there is new impatience that makes him restless, and makes him yearn acutely for the _soon_ to be _now_. Whatever Ellen needs, Castiel hopes she gets it. Whatever Naomi needs, Castiel hopes she gets…  just enough. It won’t be easy for them to convince Michael to abdicate or at least agree to pave the way for reform, but they’ll find a way, just as their nations will find a way to look back on the events of the past few months and build something new on top of that. Something that isn’t a Wall.

As for Castiel, he will happily spend the rest of his life focusing his energy on making up for his errors with Dean. Castiel’s sure that they will reach a point where Dean will be able to take Castiel’s presence in his life as a given, and with all the promises and certainties that that implies. Of course, Castiel should start on that right now, too. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean says.

Castiel puts a solemn hand on Dean’s good shoulder. “I love you very much.”

His reaction is slightly better this time. Dean blinks, twitches, and then his mouth slants in a self-deprecating huff. “You said that already, dude.”

Castiel nods. “Yes.”

Dean shakes his head a little, but he’s still smiling. Castiel wonders if he’s already picturing their tomorrows together, after everything else is dealt with and they’ve settled in a home that is entirely theirs. There is a thrill in thinking about such things – for then Castiel will learn what else Dean really wants, outside of his obligations to his House and to his occupation. It’s also exciting to figure out what _Castiel_ wants, outside of the obligations he’d been born with. 

Castiel is pulled out from those thoughts when Esper speaks up just then, with a quietly respectful, “Your Lordship?”

The use of the title shouldn’t be startling, but it is. It never felt right to Castiel’s ears, but it feels even more wrong now, after everything that’s happened. That is another thing that has to be purged, and as soon as possible.

For now, though, Castiel has to say, “Yes?”

“You may take my arm, sir. If you, um… If you need help walking, sir.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Uh.”

“Yeah, good idea, do that,” Dean says, nodding. “Let’s make sure he gets back to town upright. Tara, take point. Micah, call it in. Let’s move out!”


End file.
